Wandless Magic
by tomatojuice
Summary: Ayla is a Squib, as good as mudblood in the eyes of the new regime. She returns to the magical world after years passing as a muggle to be with her aging father, and gets a job at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, only to be thrown into the darkening situation.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hello everyone. I hope you all are having a wonderful day, and that you enjoy the pilot chapter of my new story! Let me know how you feel about it, and what you think could improve it as the chapters go on. I'm really excited about the idea, it's been brewing in my head for a long time now, and I have all summer to work on developing it consistently. It's been a while since I've written for the site, so any feedback is greatly appreciated!

**_Wandless Magic_**

**_Chapter One_**

Diagon Alley was a different place than she remembered it in childhood. No longer a kaleidoscope of colors, light, sound, and shape, it was dingy and grey; haunting and lifeless. People appeared scared to pass to and fro. The amount of passersby, in fact, had dwindled so severely she almost did not recognize it. Aside from a few huddled masses in front of an abandoned storefront, she appeared to be alone. The air was tense; not at all as it should be. She felt a ripple of familiar anxiety course through her veins.

_Father wasn't lying,_ she thought.

The deep plum cloak felt strange and tight around her neck. It was slightly too short for her now, as she had not worn it since she was fifteen. However, it kept her warm in the chill morning air. She pulled half-heartedly at the collar as she turned down the winding cobble-stoned road, trying to avoid eye-contact with a couple of shady characters shuffling by. After rounding the corner she stopped short when she saw a garishly orange store-front at the end of the lane. Complete with music and moving statuary, it was so shocking against the grey that she stopped short. It had to be the place. She had to admire the audacity of the joke shop. If she weren't so suspicious of the ambient surroundings she would have snorted. It looked like the only open place around that was not selling some kind of dark arts merchandise. She wondered how it had managed to survive the blitzkrieg that seemed to have befallen every other building.

" 'ey!" came a sudden bark at her right. She leaped vertically a couple inches in surprise.

She hadn't even noticed the cloaked man standing there. Before she could react, he had her in his firm grasp and pinned painfully to the wall of the adjacent building. Panic flooded her veins. This was a mistake. She should never have come back. It clearly wasn't safe anymore; especially for someone like her. Old memories poured back into her brain, and she started to tremble.

"Wha's yer name?" The hairy man demanded with his wand at her throat. She thought she could see a flash of a tattoo underneath the sleeve of his cloak. Her mouth gaped open and closed. Where were her self-defense maneuvers? Somehow they seemed obsolete with a wand aimed at her jugular. She really needed to buy a gun. Her assailant didn't wait for an answer.

"Yer awfully pretty to be out alone so early," His teeth were filthy, and he smelled like mead. He was obviously drunk.

"L-let me go." She finally stuttered, still unable to move her hands to a defensive position. "I'm flattered, but I ha-"

"How about I take ye' down to the pub?" He interrupted. His grimy hand tightened, and she could feel the wand tip starting to singe the skin of her neck.

"There we can ha-have a nice little interrogation alone together. Eh?"

Suddenly there was a blinding flash of red light, and she ducked instinctively, assuming he had struck, covering her head. However, the sordid man had relinquished her and was lying ten feet away on the ground.

"Oi!" There were steps rushing towards her. "Are you alright?"

She straightened, still shaking. _Probably visibly_, she realized, feeling even more inadequate than she usually felt in the magical world. There was a tall red-head in a strange leather jacket standing before her. He looked like the human version of the top-hatted marionette figure looming above the orange storefront behind him. That, she realized, was where he must have come from, as the door was swinging on its hinge as if it had been forcefully opened. Unlike the massive puppet, however, he was breathing heavily and regarding her with concern, wand in hand.

"Y-yeah, I believe so," she answered, finally registering his question. "Did you curse him?"

"Only a Stunner," he said, leering at the crumpled man. "I needed to practice it anyway. What a smarmy _git_. Been hanging around in front of the shop for a few days, scaring away potential customers. Glad to finally do something about it."

"Well, thanks. I really appreciate it," she said, trying to shake off the remaining astonishment.

"Ah, it was nothing, love. Are you sure you aren't hurt?"

He seemed to be eying her neck. She placed a hand in front of it, ignoring his question. It didn't really hurt.

"Are you the owner of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes?" She had guessed at the answer, but as that was who she had come to see, it felt like an appropriate bridge. Her awkward nature was something she had resigned herself to long before. She felt embarrassed, and was eager to forget her encounter with the drunken wizard.

He cracked an amused half-smile, seemingly satisfied that she was no longer in grave danger. There were well-formed laugh-lines on his young face; those of someone who smiled frequently.

"Yeah. Fred Weasley." He stuck out his hand. "And, you are, my dear?"

She took his outstretched hand, and was surprised when he bowed and kissed it with a flourish, his lips a warm contrast to the cold air.

"I'm Ayla Sower. I was referred to your shop by my father… I had an interview scheduled for this morning."

"Ah!" His excitement made her start. "Yes! Nice to meet you. We were expecting you! Came in early and everything. Come on in out of this chill."

Fred Weasley ushered her through the door to his shop, completely forgetting the Stunned wizard lying prostrate behind them in the street. As soon as the pleasant warmth and aroma of the colorful store surrounded her, Ayla had all but forgotten the encounter as well. Her mouth dropped open as she took in the towering shelves of brightly packaged products. Every available wall, and many individual kiosks and shelves, were stuffed into the space, creating a labyrinth of aisles and ledges. It was most definitely some kind of joke emporium, she realized after scanning a few of the silly labels.

Fred looked pleased by her reaction. "George!" He called out, springing up one of the many small staircases onto a platform and out of sight. "Our interviewee is he-e-re! Thanks to my lightening reflexes and damsel-rescuing abilities!" His voice echoed as he moved away. Ayla thought she heard him mention something about averted rape crisis. Her cheeks reddened.

As she waited, Ayla rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet and chewed her lip, eager to distract herself. She hazarded a quick glance out of the window to be sure the wizard was still lying on the ground, which he was, before turning her attention inside. The store was overwhelming to the senses, but not in an unpleasant way. This magic was less intimidating than the kind from wands. Charms, they must have been. Something to her left caught her eye. It appeared to be a kind of magical terrarium filled with tiny balls of candy floss.

"Ahh-," She breathed, realizing that they were living creatures. "How precious." She poked gently at a yellow one, and felt her heart leap when it squeaked and bounced lightly away. There was nothing like this in a muggle pet store. Maybe it really had been too long since she'd been back.

"Do you like them?" came an amused voice. Fred had returned with who she guessed was the George he had been calling for. At first she was taken aback, but then realized that they were clearly twins. She smiled.

"Yes, very much." She said. "What are they?"

"Pygmy Puffs," said Fred. "They're quite popular among the female crowd."

"I'd say so." She turned to the new twin and extended her arm. "Hello. I'm Ayla."

"George Weasley. Glad to see my brother rescued you in time. I've threatened that slimy Death Eater before. Maybe this will finish him off. Old Voldy really knows how to pick them, doesn't he?" He took her hand but did not kiss it, apparently a bit more reserved than his brother. Still, his face was extremely good-natured, and he smiled kindly. Ayla's cheeks warmed.

"Yes, he definitely caught me quite off-guard." She murmured, being only vaguely familiar with the term _Death Eater_. "I'll have to remember to keep moving while I'm on the street."

Fred bent to retrieve a fallen box he had accidentally knocked off when bounding up the stairs, and his brother spoke again.

"So, you're here about the _Prophet_ advertisement?" George asked, hands shoved into his pockets.

"Yes, my father heard you were looking for someone to hire temporarily that had some skills in baking and pastry…" She trailed off, not sure when mentioning her status would be appropriate. As nice as they seemed, she wasn't sure they would be willing to hire her after they knew.

"We've been looking for someone who can bring the finishing touch to some of our edible products." said George.

"To add the final pizzazz, you might call it," added Fred, gesturing as he leaned up against a shelf. "While extremely gifted ourselves, cooking isn't exactly our forte', and a product that has wicked taste as well as function will sell much better, we figure."

"And, as we're one of the few remaining businesses in Diagon Alley that are prospering at the moment, we can afford to take on another member to the team. We have Verity as well, but she's frankly pretty hopeless in the kitchen."

"There have already been loads of owls inquiring about the position, but…"

"They were all just looking more for a cut of the profit rather than the sheer, un-paralleled, and rewarding experience of working with two geniuses such as ourselves."

"_And,_ more importantly, they all lacked the specific talents we've been looking for."

"You need a pastry chef, it sounds like." Ayla assessed, beginning to feel more qualified.

"Yes! We need someone to help us develop our new line." George answered.

"We call it _Confunding Confections,_" interjected Fred. "It's essentially a gourmet branch-off of our Skiving Snackboxes, and is geared towards people who want to prank annoying relatives and friends rather than get out of appointments and classes."

"It's going to be a series of pastries and chocolates which house some of the old products as well as a few novel ones. Should catch people off guard, since they're starting to recognize the basic _Puking Pastilles_, _Nosebleed Nougat_, and such. It opens a whole new avenue of pranking possibilities!"

Ayla grinned, tucking a tendril of golden hair behind her ear. Their enthusiasm was electric and the product names ridiculously perfect. Perhaps it was just this silliness that she needed right now.

"Well, I must admit that I'm not familiar with many of your current products, but…"

The Weasley twins' expressions turned abruptly to alarm. The sudden change in demeanor was quite humorous, and she wasn't sure they intended it to be so. Fred crossed his arms indignantly, and Ayla was reminded of a young child who hadn't gotten his way.

"_What_?" they said simultaneously with narrowed eyes.

"Where have you _been_?"

"And you want to work for us?"

"Maybe we're falling short in advertising, Gred! We've been too arrogant to think that everyone's heard of us."

"That's ridiculous! How could you miss it? It's as bloody orange as a blooming pumpkin! And who doesn't _talk_ about us?"

"And the posters! The Ads in the _Prophet_! Where have we gone wrong?"

They continued to berate her and banter until Ayla interrupted.

"Well, you see, I haven't exactly been in the Wizarding world for some time now. I don't think it's necessarily your fault that I haven't been exposed to any of it. I'm only back to help my father. He's older now, and the war has him quite shaken, even as a pureblood."

They calmed somewhat, though still couldn't seem to shake the astonishment that someone had not heard of them.

"Wait," said Fred. "You haven't been in the Wizarding world?"

"Have you been in hiding?"

"Oh no, is that why that guy was attacking you?"

"You know if you'd done something illegal, or something to piss off a Death Eater, we'd accept that. In fact, maybe it wouldn't even matter that you haven't heard of us."

"Yeah, you're brave to come back."

"It's worthy of immense respect!"

"No!" she exclaimed before they could continue. "No, no, no. I've done nothing to anger anyone as far as I know. But I hope you will consider my qualifications for the job despite my complete lack of interesting stories to tell about run-ins with magical law-enforcement!"

George cleared his throat and gave a sheepish smile.

"Sure, sorry, we get carried away."

"Happens quite frequently."

"Go on." they both said.

Ayla shifted her weight, trying to maintain eye contact so they wouldn't perceive her as weak; a tactic her father had tried to teach her. She had a feeling she was failing miserably.

"I've not exactly been in hiding. I've been gone for years though, and I just finished at the University in London, and had a job with one of the premier bakeries in Covent Garden." She said, sure to hint at her qualifications before breaking the news. A suspicious glint had appeared in their eyes at the mention of the university, however. Witches and Wizards never attended university. They both leaned in, curious.

_Well, might as well just say it… _She hated the word. It sounded so… dirty. But it was the only thing magical folk ever understood. She inhaled, preparing for what had always held her back in the world of her family.

"I'm a Squib."


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: Sorry for the delay, friends. I hope you all enjoy! More interesting chapters are on their way.

_**Wandless Magic**_

**_Chapter Two_**

_The summer had seemed to last forever. The cottage on the hill glistened every morning with fresh dew, and became steaming hot by nightfall in the climaxing heat of each day. _

_Ayla sat on her swing one evening in late August, half-heartedly nudging herself backwards and forwards with her foot. She was a small, twiggy little girl; nearly eleven. Occasionally her head would jerk upwards and her wide hazel eyes would comb across the red-orange sky. _

_All she could see in her mind were her friends in Madam Malkin's jabbering away about owls, books, wands, houses, and boys. It was all they could talk about. They were so excited you could almost see it oozing from them. _

_The letter. To her friends, it was simply a rite of passage, but to Ayla, it was more important than anything in the world. It would prove everyone wrong; everyone who doubted her. Even her parents had begun to suspect that their daughter may never receive her powers, and had been trying to prepare her for the possibility of rejection. She wouldn't hear them. She yearned for it more than she had ever yearned for anything else. _

"_Darling?" came her mother's inquiring voice across the yard. She was backlit warmly in the open doorway._

"_Sweetheart, it's almost time for bed."_

_With one last glance at the heavens, Ayla heaved herself up and shuffled inside to Moira's waiting arms._

_It never arrived._

Benjamin Sower's flat was located hazardously close to the entrance to the Underground. Ayla had cautioned him against it when he had moved there from their house in the country, but she eventually agreed to it upon his many assurances that it was safe, and that the Muggles would never notice. The convenient location across the street from St. Mungo's ended up being the major selling point.

As she alighted upon the third step into the darkness among the bustling crowd, Ayla ducked quickly to the left and disappeared from view as though swallowed by the graffiti-covered concrete wall. No one looked twice, and the hasty morning commuters continued to bustle.

Ayla arrived in the entry parlor after descending a narrow stair.

The square flat was cozy and bright, despite being located underground. It was a magically decompressed space with ceilings reaching high into the air. Adorning the walls and nearly concealing the forest green wall coverings were posters of everything imaginable; from muggle film stars to the most recent moving wanted posters of the Wizarding world. They were her father's constant companions now that he could rarely venture out of his home. There were curved windows high on the walls that were also part of the ceiling. They should have presented a view of the street, but instead they only revealed a blank expanse of sky.

In the center of it all was Ayla's frail father, reclined on a chaise and reading the Daily Prophet. He glanced up at her over his square spectacles, a mixture of humor and inquiry in his eye. The fire in the grate cracked merrily and gave him an extra quizzical glint.

Ayla smiled and darted to his side, kneeling and peering up at him over the edge of the chair. Her grin grew at his amusement. She waited for him to ask.

"Well, how did it go, my dear?" He posed, eyebrow cocked.

"I'm hired!" It burst from her mouth in the closest thing to a squeal she could ever muster. "They want me to start on Monday."

Ayla hadn't expected the feeling of elation she would get at having been accepted for something in the magical world, and it was evident on her face as she told her father. The unemployment rate for Squibs was nearly one-hundred percent outside of Muggle occupations. The Weasley twins, however, had scoffed when she told them, and said it didn't matter in the least to them. In fact, she thought with a slight thrill, they had seemed to find it more exotic than pathetic, and were genuinely befuddled as to why she had been worried about telling them.

"Well, well, what did I tell you, Ayla?" Her father smiled knowingly, the younger man inside of him shining through. "You're a bright girl, and your cake is nothing short of ambrosial. They'll know they made the right decision. When I saw the advertisement, I knew it would be perfect. Those Weasley's are good people. I used to work with their father, you know."

"Really? In the Ministry?"

Benjamin nodded and grunted in the affirmative.

"Yes. Arthur is one of the best men I knew; dedicated more time to his department than anyone ever did. Heaven help him if he's still there…" He trailed off, resting the side of his hand against his mouth, the newspaper falling limp. The wanted picture on the cover began to look oddly warped.

Ayla stood and leaned against the chaise, more serious now, rubbing her father's shoulder.

"How bad are things exactly, daddy? The twins wondered if I might have been in hiding when I told them that I hadn't been around in a while."

"Well, my dear, things were getting testy while I was still there, to be sure. I must admit, I'm probably more out of the loop now since all this has happened." He gestured to his feeble legs without much care. He was an old man, he and Moira not having Ayla until late in life. He sighed and continued.

"But, yes, a lot of people have found it in their best interests to leave the country. Particularly Muggle-borns. And this thing," he gestured with the Prophet and spoke gravely, "is nearing complete rubbish now. The situation's enough to have people very worried. Very worried indeed. The reverberations have begun to reach Muggle London. You remember the bridge collapse? I suspect you also saw some of the effects in Diagon Alley this morning."

"Yes, it was awful. Not at all how I remembered. It was gloomy and downright treacherous." She relayed the events of her near assault to her father, and a look of pensive concern rose on his wrinkled face. He squeezed her hand as she told him of it and assured him that she was unscathed.

"If Fred, he's one of the brothers who owns the joke shop, hadn't Stunned him, I don't know what could have happened. But I really need to find some way of protecting myself while I'm here. I can't count on someone being around to save me if it happens again. The twins are going to have me Floo to the shop from now on."

After a moment, her father appeared to be trembling. With a feeling of horror, Ayla realized his eyes were glistening, but not with their usual mischievousness.

"Daddy, what's wrong?" she asked frantically, kneeling again and holding a hand to his face.

"Are you alright?"

After a moment he spoke, reaching for her face as well.

"My dear… I'm so sorry I compelled you to do this for me. Your life was established in muggle London. Please know I feel guilty for putting you through this unnecessary move. As much as I love that you'll be around more, it was highly selfish of me to ask you to stay. This is a terrible time for Wizarding England, and you being in the middle of it isn't safe for you."

Blood rushed to Ayla's face in astonishment.

"What, because I'm a Squib?"

Her father grimaced, but she continued.

"That's nonsense. Don't say things like that. You need me here; it isn't selfish. I love you, Daddy. I would choose you over my Muggle life any day, no matter the political climate." she assured adamantly. "I know the war scares you. It's starting to scare me as well, but anything I can do to help you feel safer will be worth it. Even if that just means I'm here for support."

It certainly hadn't passed over her radar that there was very little she could do in the event of something terrible. Her father knew her predicament well, though, and she knew he didn't expect that kind of protection from her. In his fragile state, someone to take care of he and the flat must have been an immense comfort. Still, she was admittedly getting more and more worried the more time she had spent at home. The air about it was somehow different. And she never could have conceived being attacked in Diagon Alley, of all places, before. There was little reason to disclose the gravity of her growing concern to Benjamin, however.

"I promise, Daddy. If it comes down to the wire, I'm sure the self-defense maneuvers I learned last year will kick in."

She grinned a tiny bit until she was satisfied that his expression was less doubtful. Benjamin finally half-smiled at her, shaking his head, but looking a bit more content. She was grateful that he didn't inquire as to why the maneuvers hadn't kicked in earlier that day.

She stood and stretched, and he started leafing through the paper again. As her stomach rumbled, she considered ransacking the refrigerator. An amusing thought occurred to her.

"You know, I'd like to see You-Know-Who face my old self-defense instructor without a wand. He was a massive bloke… really intimidating."

"Don't minimize the issue, Ayla." Her father half-heartedly chided as she moved, chuckling, into the kitchen to start dinner.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wandless Magic_

_Chapter Three_

* * *

><p>"Alright. You've got to leave it in the oven for twenty more minutes. The low temperature will cook it slowly, so it's all a matter of patience. But it will be worth it, you just have to trust me."<p>

Ayla had her hand solidly on the handle to the ramshackle oven that had recently been added to the testing room of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes; an addition graciously donated by the twins' father Arthur Weasley. She did this mostly because of the two salivating twins crowded next to her. They were gazing longingly into the dark little window, and she didn't want them doing something impulsive and ruining the cake she was demonstrating for them. They were so close she could feel the warmth emanating from their bodies. They both smelled quite nice… _sexy _even, like cedar and gunpowder. She couldn't tell which was coming from whom. Maybe they both smelled the same. She stopped herself and pushed the thought out of her mind and refocused on the small white ramekin in the center of the oven.

"Ahh, but it smells fuckin' _amazing,_" moaned Fred. The molten chocolate had begun to bubble. "Come on, just a peek!" He moseyed his hand to the handle, and Ayla slapped it away. He winced and made a pathetic whining noise.

"No! You can't. If you open the door the heat will escape, and it won't cook up right. Just be patient."

"Heh, what's that mean?" Verity piped teasingly, clearly referring to the twins' inability to wait for anything. Her voice was somewhat muffled because she was behind a shelf organizing overstocked products. Neither of the twins seemed to hear her. They were both still absorbed in the newfound method of cooking that was apparently so different from their mother's. They were acting like children waiting for cookies to come out of the oven; which wasn't terribly far from the truth.

"You're saying there's no magic involved in this?" asked George in disbelief for the third time. He tapped on the glass lightly with his wand to Ayla's consternation. "How does this thing _work_?"

"More importantly," said Fred with astonishment, "How did _Dad_ get it to work?"

"I don't see how you can make a cake without magic. I'm sorry, I just don't. This is bonkers." George looked genuinely puzzled, albeit fascinated, his brows furrowed. A chuckle escaped Ayla as she watched him. She could have counted his freckles, though there were many. God, they really needed to back away. It had been far too long since she'd had a boyfriend. She exhaled.

"Hey, Muggles have to eat too, don't they? You saw how I did it, right? Every step of the way," she said, again talking them through every part of her process from sifting to measuring, and explained a modified version of appliance mechanics. Despite her being more comfortable around them -she was in her element- they were having a hard time grasping the notion of food science. She had answered a number of redundant questions in the last days.

"_Elek-tricity, you say?" _

"_But how does it make it hot?" _

"_But I can't see it!"_

"_How is it glowing red without magic!"_

It was her fifth day as 'Unofficial Official Assistant Tasty Product Developer' for the joke shop. The title had been Fred's idea, of course, and he had even fashioned a blinking and whirring nametag for Ayla. _"Wow, now I really feel like I fit in." _She had said in her normal dry humor, causing him to emit a bark of laughter. Though she knew it was largely intended as a joke, the nametag looked like it had taken him some time to make. She was secretly happy to wear it.

The first days were spent going over product ideas, finding out exactly what she could offer them, and getting her equipment installed with the help of Mr. Weasley Sr.; which she learned wasn't quite easy, being as most of her things were built for muggle kitchens with electricity. She truthfully wasn't quite sure how the oven was working either, but it seemed to behave just like any other; even if it had clearly originated sometime in the early seventies. Mr. Weasley had been hilarious too, however unintentionally; pelting her with nonstop questions about Muggles, for which Fred and George had profusely apologized later.

She also felt safer without having to set foot in Diagon Alley to get to work. Compared to being attacked in the street, the fact that she was unable to keep herself from tripping unglamorously out of the fireplace every morning seemed like a small price to pay. Besides once knocking George over when he happened to be standing too close, there had been few real issues. It was only a matter of time though. The Floo Network was another perk of the magical world that she just didn't quite get along with.

"Okay, guys, once the cake is done, I'll explain how it all came together as a result of the steps I took earlier!"

As she continued to speak, the twins finally backed away from the oven, and Ayla felt that she could safely relinquish her hold on the door. She wiped her hands absently on her apron.

* * *

><p>George had to admit to himself, the idea of muggle methods for product developments, other than the small Muggle magic display in the shop, was something he had never considered. It made him feel almost conservative, he thought with a slimy feeling in his gut. He had always prided himself on being liberal and open to new ideas, but he had never considered the life of a Squib; unless you counted Filch; and he and Fred hadn't exactly treated him with the utmost respect. It must have been a terrible life in the magical world for someone without powers, and he could understand why many of them ventured out.<p>

He could tell by his brother's expression, mouth slightly agape and sporting a vacant stare, that Fred wasn't following their new employee's explanation of baking powder and sodium bicarbonate any better than the previous day's conversation about electric currents and voltage. However, though George couldn't understand either topic, he was intrigued by how Ayla's pale face lit up with obvious excitement as she spoke about food. He had frankly been concerned when she applied for the position, thinking her a quiet, bookish type. Despite how tolerant he wanted to be, and how much he disliked himself for it, he had worried about the contributions someone without the ability to cast charms would be able to make for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

However, something about the way she spoke once she was comfortable made him feel more at ease. She had large eyes that opened wide when she got excited about something, and seemed to bounce on the balls of her feet, as if she always put all of her weight there. It made her appear eager and energetic, something he always looked for in employees. Her smile was a tad crooked, like she couldn't keep it a bay while she talked. He realized he wasn't listening.

"And the leavened product becomes moister, but airy at the same time! It's decadent. You'll see!"

At last, the time came for her to remove the chocolate cake from the oven. An unbearable sweetness enveloped the room in an instant; cocoa and sugar. It smelled better than Fortescue's or Honeydukes. She placed it on the counter, and the cake gurgled.

"That looks absolutely incredible." George said honestly, bracing his arm against the counter and peering closer. She looked over at him and smiled.

His brother couldn't wait for it to cool; he scrambled frantically around the room throwing drawers open and closed. Finally finding a warped spoon, he drove it directly into the ramekin, and Ayla sighed.

"That's not a great idea…"

Fred chomped the massive bite.

"_God_!" Fred moaned through obvious pain. "Hot, but even better than I imagined! Marry me!"

A loud chuckle emerged from Verity's shelf, and she rounded the corner to see the fuss. "I'd like to take _that_ one out of context. Wow, Ay! That's gonna be wicked! This is the one you guys are going to put the dancing charm in, yeah?"

George nodded, while Fred went in for a second bite.

"Not yet, obviously." Ayla said, grinning still. "Now it's just plain old molten chocolate cake I've ripped off from the bakery I used to work in. I doubt anyone here will notice."

"Nah, not our customers" Verity waved her hand dismissively and stepped nearer. "I definitely want to try it. Smells wonderful."

"Really, I think our Fred here would be happy if we left it alone," Said George, snatching the little bent spoon before his brother could stop him.

"Probably right, Mr. Weasley." Agreed Verity, watching Fred licking his lips.

George was sure to blow on the cake a bit before shoving it into his mouth. With that bite, all concerns he had with hiring a Squib dissolved into nonexistence. The edges of his mouth rose in an involuntary grin. "You know, I hate to propose right after my dear twin, but I might mention that I'm definitely the better half."

Fred punched him forcefully in the arm and dove for the spoon as it fell from George's hand.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: Hey, ya'll. I feel so good about myself, updating in less than a week! I was on a roll today. I've decided that I love writing from George's perspective, and I'm probably going to jump around pretty often. I hope you enjoy this chapter. It's got a bit more substance. Please review if you feel so led! Actually, review even if you don't feel particularly led. They make me smile. Enjoy!**

_Wandless Magic_

_Chapter Four_

* * *

><p>July made its sweltering appearance about eight weeks after George and Fred had taken Ayla onto their product development team. The first day of the month brought with it a rare heat-wave. George was suffering underneath his magenta shop clothes. It had been a rather busy morning; uncharacteristic of the shop since so many families were avoiding outings to Diagon Alley. The bulk of the business was now operating through Owl Order catalogue. It was only a matter of time before that comprised the entire business. It was a grim thought, but George could feel it moving closer every day. Times were darkening, and it couldn't be denied. His mother had even been more adamant about speaking to all of her children daily. She wrote often, and insisted that they come to the Burrow for dinner at least three times a week. It was a bit of a change for the twins, though not entirely unwelcome as neither of them could cook particularly well. She wanted them to invite Ayla and Verity along, and before they could respond to her owl, she had already sent another along insisting on a dinner party for that very Friday.<p>

He and his brother had been enjoying much success with their new protégé's help and ideas. The first week of _Confunding Confections_ sales had brought in a vastly acceptable profit, and left many people inquiring about ordering the products sans-charms. _"You'll have to work that out with our Assistant Product Developer"_ had actually become a standard refrain. Now Ayla was churning out extras of all her cake varieties to sell by special order. At their current rate, Wheezes was going to become part bakery within the year. George and Fred were happy to provide her the extra ingredients and counter space, however, since she had helped them out so much. It was also undeniable that they all had grown extremely fond of her.

There was little doubt that she would have been sorted into Hufflepuff had she gone to Hogwarts. Fred was a bit disappointed. _"It would have been a great thing to tease her about, eh?"_ However, being the Weasley twins, they had no trouble finding things to take the mickey about. She was incurably clumsy, and had knocked him and a few shelves down multiple times in the process of tripping. In addition to that, she blushed almost as profusely as his younger brother Ron, which was _always_ an enjoyable trait. George had also never met someone more unassuming. He doubted she had ever done a spiteful thing in her entire life. The latest teasing venture with he and his brother had been to try and get her angry. Crossed arms and shameless pouting was the best they had been able to manage so far.

As he stood alone gazing out of the front window of the shop, George decided he couldn't stand the heat anymore and slipped his arms out of his sleeves, tossing his jacket over his arm. He leaned against the woodwork, trying to cool down a bit. He wondered if he could manage a couple of fanning charms. He'd have to consult one of the reference books for the exact spell. The oppressive heat would start to chase away the customers.

"Mr. Weasley!" Verity called, probably with a question from a customer. He heard, but didn't turn away from the street, as something moving in the shadows across the walk suddenly caught his eye.

"Just a moment, Verity. Better yet, find Fred." He called, quickly tossing his jacket onto the coat rack, and dashing outside. He peered through the steaming heat as he approached the dark figure. He had an idea about who it was, and it was confirmed after the wizard noticed him and tried to dash down the alley.

"Hey!" George called, reflexively drawing his wand and rushing after the cloaked man. He awkwardly caught the back of a moth-eaten cloak that must have been an absolute _nightmare_ in the summer heat, and spun the man around. The wizard stumbled as George managed to get him pinned to the wall of the dim passage.

"Downing, what the bloody hell are you still doing here?" George seethed. He didn't seethe very often. A distant part of his mind swelled with satisfaction when the man winced. The Death Eater struggled against George's hold, but he appeared to be fairly inebriated and unable to reach his wand.

"Here?" Downing sang waveringly, dark eyes darting. "It's the _street._ I can be 'ere if I _bloody _well please."

George shook him, tightening his grip. "You are _loitering_ in front of our shop. And, I really don't fancy scum like you watching me and my employees. We've warned you multiple times. Get the hell away from here or I will contact the Auror office. Maybe try to find something to do that actually benefits society."

Downing started convulsing with laughter, his eyes closed. His breath was rancid.

"I'm doin' more to _benefit society_ than you Muggle-lovers know!" he barked, spraying spit. He looked crazed. "Do you think I haven't noticed that Mudblood you Weasels have working for you? She looks like a bit o' fun. Bit familiar, too…" he paused, squinting, like he was trying to remember something. After a moment he met George's probing stare again, smiling.

"You do know what the Dark Lord likes to do for fun, don' ya? Mmm… if only you'd let me have her that day a couple months ago. Ahhh, she was so _soft._"

George felt his blood begin to boil. He ground his teeth.

"And, o'course…" he continued, patting George's wrist.

"Get your hand off me!" Downing quickly pulled back his hand, holding it up in mock-surrender and continued his thought. "It's only a matter a time before they catch 'em all with the Registration Commission reforms. I can' wait. I'll tell 'em all about your _generous_ charity cases. Won't bode well for your business, eh?"

Downing licked his lips. George barely resisted socking him in the face. He trembled with rage before shoving the wizard away roughly. He watched him crumple into the slime in the gutter. A few rats scampered away.

"Just get the hell out of here." George said quietly, but dangerously, aiming his wand at Downing's face. "I know you're a Death Eater. Judging by how you spend your time, I'd dare wager you're a pretty pathetic one, too. Threaten my employees again, and I _will_ harm you. Climb out of the bottle long enough to actually make good on your threats, I will _kill_ you."

Sufficiently infuriated, George turned and stormed back towards the shop, Downing's laughter rumbling behind him.

"_Silencio!"_ George shouted, jabbing his wand over his shoulder violently. Satisfied when his ears were greeted with silence, he entered the shop and cast a precautionary _"Salvio Hexia"_ in the doorway, garnering the stares of several pedestrians.

He was greeted immediately with the wide, inquiring blue eyes of his twin.

"What's going on?"

"Downing's back." George said shortly, continuing through the store, past several customers. He tried to force a neutral expression onto his face.

"That arse." whispered Fred, glancing in the direction of the window as he followed. "I'll send a quick owl to Mad-Eye."

"I think that's probably a good idea."

Fred followed George into the back room. There was a brief clanging noise. Over in the far corner, Ayla was busy at work in her kitchen, almost concealed by a growing cloud of flour. She had clearly just dropped her sifter. They had surprised her. She glanced up, smiling sheepishly. Her expression changed slowly to one of concern at the twins' angered and worried faces.

George quickly pulled his brother behind a shelf, and quietly relayed what had just happened in the street.

"Fred, he threatened us. He was completely plastered, but he's clearly been watching us for over a month. Ayla in particular. You know he's been around more since she got here. I think he knows her. He said something about her being familiar."

"That could just be from that day I saved her, yeah?" Fred replied seriously.

"I don't think so. The look in his eye was off. He said he was going to turn her in at the Registration Commission. Said he couldn't wait to have some _fun_ with her. Made me sick."

"Maybe you should ask her about it. They haven't instated that ridiculous Registration thing yet, have they?"

"It's only a matter of time. You know how things have been getting at the Ministry. Dad's off his rocker trying to keep things settled in his department."

Fred looked troubled. He rubbed his chin, like he always did when he was thinking.

"I don't know, George... She's a Squib. I doubt it'll be much better for them than Muggle-borns if this gets worse."

"Well, we've got to protect her. Just like the family's doing for Hermione."

"Yeah… Yeah, I'm sure they'd be willing to help if it comes to that. Especially Dad. He's bonkers about her already."

"Alright, we'll just lie low for a bit; make sure she or Verity don't get too close to the window. If anyone asks, she's our cousin, and her wand is irreparably damaged. We're just helping her out. I hate to say it, but with Ollivander missing we stand a better chance of being believed."

Fred nodded, and dropped his eyes, as though deep in contemplation. Their discussion was interrupted, however, before he could disclose any of his thoughts.

Ayla peeked around the corner of the shelf warily. George saw her honey eyes before anything else. She had flour all down her front and in her hair. He punched his brother's arm, and Fred immediately spun around. Fred shoved his hands in his pockets, and they both slapped on their easy mischievous grins. George propped his elbow on the shelf next to him and tried quite successfully to look nonchalant. After years of driving Filch and their mother to the brink of insanity, they were extremely gifted actors; able to anticipate and play off of anything the other threw out.

"Why are you two being all conspiratorial?" She asked. "Really, if it's about the flour, I'm sure one of you could just… nip it up with your wands, right? And I hope to goodness you aren't planning something else to give me grief. I don't think I can stand another of your increasingly hilarious attacks."

"Well, love, what would the fun be if you knew what we were planning? Don't you like surprises? All girls like surprises." Fred teased.

"And you'd be _really_ surprised what we could _nip _up with our wands," added George to his brother's great amusement.

She crossed her arms, and chortled ironically. "Oh, terribly funny."

"We're full of them."

"Yeah, full of _it,_ for sure." Ayla corrected with her usual quiet humor.

"Haa!"

Fred was starting to act loony. He clapped his hands together loudly after a brief two second silence. "Well, that was a lovely interlude. So, Aye, in the meantime, while we _aren't _telling you what we're up to, our mother has decided that she needs very much to meet you. Would you like to join us for dinner at the Burrow this Friday after work?"

Ayla did a poor job disguising her look of surprise at the abrupt turn in the conversation. "S-sorry, a burrow?"

"Ha, it's our old house," George clarified. "Where our parents live."

Her mouth gaped faintly. "Oh... oh, well, yes, of course. I would love to." She pulled absently at some hair that had fallen out of her braid. George couldn't help but notice a small flicker in his stomach. "Uhm, thanks."

"Not at all, darling." Fred declared, bounding forward and clapping her on the shoulder hard enough to make her lurch forward. "By the way, you look _ravishing_ covered in wheat." With that, and Ayla's fierce blush, Fred darted out the door and back into the main part of the shop.

"It's… not really wheat." But her voice died with Fred's departure.

That left George grinning widely at her. He cocked an eyebrow, enjoying her flushed face. He was starting to cool down from the anger he had felt coursing through him only minutes earlier. Once again, he was astounded by his chemistry with his twin. They were positively unstoppable.

"So, why does your mum want to meet me?" She asked eventually.

"Well, for one thing she wants to confront the person whose cooking rivals her own," He started. "She's a bit competitive, you see…"

Ayla blanched, uncrossing her arms. "Really?"

"No," He said. "Not in the least." She slapped his arm.

"Don't _do_ that to me, George! God, you had me scared." She raised both hands to her forehead, and turned away to head back to her kitchen.

He snorted, following.

"Hey! You can tell us apart! That usually takes people years."

"Yeah, you've got a great, dirty spot on your chin."

"Oi, that's a bit uncalled for. It's a beauty spot, that's what it is. A very manly beauty spot. But, no, in all seriousness, she just wants to meet our new employee. I think Dad might've played you up a bit. He really likes you. She wants us to invite Verity as well."

The kitchen was a mess. Flour coated a large portion of the floor, ceiling, and counter. He couldn't believe how much square footage she had managed to blanket with the powdery white substance. Ayla grabbed a rag, and started mopping the countertop.

"Well, she won't be able to come. She has a date Friday night."

"Really? With who?" George was genuinely taken aback; he leaned in, resting his forearms on the counter and dredging them in flour.

"Don't know. Some guy she's seeing, I suppose."

"Oh, yeah? Because that doesn't make the slightest bit of sense."

She threw him a look and heaved a sigh.

"You know, I think his name's Callum. Or… Colin? I can't remember, we talked about it last week."

"Oh well," he said, shrugging. "Nine's a party then."

She stopped scrubbing. "_Nine?_" she asked incredulously. "This really is a party, isn't it?"

"Oh, I guess we never told you about our family. Fred and I have something of a large one. We have five siblings. They won't all be there for dinner Friday, only the younger two, Ron and Ginny, and the eldest one, Bill. He'll bring along his fiancé. I believe _you_, Fred and I, along with mum and dad, will make nine. And that's if no one else shows up, which happens more often than not."

"Oh…" Ayla looked a bit nervous, chewing on her lower lip and furrowing her brows.

"Don't worry. They're all perfectly harmless. Even though Bill's a vicious part-werewolf, and exceedingly hungry these days..."

She inhaled sharply.

"Only kidding." He snickered. "Sort of."

"Ohhh, you are ridiculous. Really. How do you manage to keep friends?"

"No idea. Hey, stop that." George gestured absently at her hand, pulling out his wand, and she ceased the cleaning. He aimed at the counter.

"_Scourgify!_"

Ayla watched in wonder as the kitchen became instantly spotless. She sighed. "Oh, wouldn't that be _so_ nice to be able to do."


	5. Chapter 5

**_Author's Note: So, this chapter is coming really soon. (Collective "Yay!") I originally didn't intend this little episode to be it's own chapter, but it kind of wrote itself, and I figured it would be more exciting to post it as its own thing. That way I can dedicate an entire chapter to the next event, which will hopefully have a bit more character development. Personally, I'd rather have frequent smaller chapters as opposed to reeeeeeallly long ones that are few and far between! So... enjoy! And thank you, reviewers! It sure would be nice to see a few from the _500_ (!) other readers... You know who you are! _**

_Wandless Magic_

_Chapter Five_

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><p>What Ayla was about to do was, in her mind, the most terrifying thing she had ever done of her own volition in her entire life. It was about a quarter past five in the evening of the first Friday in July, and she was dressed in the simple gray pencil skirt and pale yellow cardigan she had intended to wear to the Weasley's home for dinner. She was also sitting on a stool so as not to fall over. The twins had just closed up the shop, and Verity had zipped off in a hurry to prepare for her date. <em>"He's so bloody gorgeous, Ayla! I'm nervous, but I haven't been this excited in a while!" <em>While the eminent dinner party with the Weasleys was something that concerned Ayla, given her dislike of large groups, it was nothing compared to what the twins were now trying to force her into in the back room of their store.

"_Sorry to spring this on you now, but we've realized something kind of important, Aye. We've been thinking on it all afternoon, and…we would have mentioned it earlier, but to be honest it completely slipped our minds,"_ one of them had said all too casually; she wasn't sure which now, her anxiety was fogging her vision as she tried to comprehend what they had just told her. She had the uncomfortable sense that she was being cornered. _"Side-Along Apparition is really something that you should learn. Particularly given the current state of the Wizarding World. And, if you ask us, there's no better time than the present!" _

She hadn't said a word. True to form, she could feel a panic attack coming along; that familiar tightening in her throat. It was something she had not experienced full-on since finals week at University. _Oh, they were still talking, weren't they?_ Both redheads stood before her with crossed arms; looking concerned.

"Floo is useful only up to a certain point." they were saying.

"For one thing, you can obviously only go to locations with fireplaces, which would be pretty terrible for you in the event of an emergency. If, Merlin forbid, we had to leave the shop in a rush, Apparating is the way we would have to do it. And, we expect the Ministry will be monitoring the networks pretty heavily before long. We'd rather you not use it for anything besides coming to and from work, even though we're frankly not too comfortable with that anymore either."

Ayla was surprised by how serious the two sounded about it. They exchanged glances with each other.

"We wouldn't normally insist, but our main concern is that the Floo connection at the Burrow is closed at the moment. We… uhm, have a bit of a… thing… to worry about soon, and no one's allowed to use it. It's a safety issue, trust us."

"So… what say you, Sower?"

Ayla gaped, finally bringing their blurred faces into focus. "I-I can't even _Floo_ properly. I think I'll just go… _home_ for dinner. Dad and I have plenty to... do." She breathed weakly, trying to stand.

"What?" Fred demanded. "Nonsense, we've already promised Mum we're bringing you. She's no doubt pulling out all the stops as we speak! Don't worry. Side-Along Apparating's a piece of cake. It's not nearly as messy as Floo Powder. The home cooked meal waiting at the end will make the brief spell of _mild_ discomfort worth it."

But she doubted him. Her appetite had severely diminished. The look in his eye wasn't all that convincing either.

"I've never Apparated before." She said finally, feeling guilty, but no less terrified.

"That's why we're going to practice in here first." George said, putting a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, half-thinking he was going to do it right then.

"Sorry…" she apologized.

He retracted, and his voice became gentler. "I'll take you with me. I promise you'll be fine."

"W-what about… _splinking_?" she asked, terrified. "Isn't that what happens when witches and wizards Apparate and leave behind body parts?"

Fred barked out a laugh.

"It's not funny!" She said with surprising strength, her eyes widening fiercely at him. "You can't tell me you weren't worried the first time _you_ tried."

"Well, honestly he really wasn't..." said George. "But that's not important. It's actually called _splinching_, and it won't happen to you. It's very rare. And I'm good at this. Been doing it safely for years, I swear. Here. Come on, now." He grabbed her hands, that she had ground into fists, and pulled her forcibly to the center of the floor.

"_Splinching_? Oh my God… oh, _God_… I can't do this."

She couldn't believe they had sprung this on her less than an hour before they were expected at the Burrow. Granted, she would surely have backed out had she had more time to think about it. Apparating was one of the magical experiences she simply had no desire to have. There were quite a few things she was skeptical about in this world, and in the past months she had settled into her routine with her father; where she was only exposed to charms in the shop. She spent most of her down time doing what she had been comfortable with in her Muggle life. This was much more advanced magic than she had planned on becoming involved with.

She wondered at the likeliness of them having to leave in a hurry. As much as she disliked it, she could see their point, however. For the entire week, the twins had been acting rather funny; keeping Verity busy in the rear of the shop floor most of the day, casting mild protective enchantments over the door, and constantly looking towards the street when they thought no one was watching. Ayla had spent even more time than usual in the back room rather than manning the _Confunding Confections _counter. They checked up on her frequently, which was rather distracting, though she particularly enjoyed George's company when he wasn't trying to surreptitiously test new product ideas on her. It would have been impossible not to notice that they were both bothered about something. It was making her nervous, and she wondered what they weren't telling her or Verity.

However uneasy she was about their strange behavior, she was still more reluctant about doing anything that involved her body disappearing and reappearing miles away.

Fred had stepped back out of the way, and was leaning against the wall. Ayla couldn't tell for sure, but she thought he was smirking. For a moment it was almost as though George was going to start dancing with her. Frankly, she wished it was only a dancing lesson. His hands were pleasantly warm, and he admittedly smelled very comforting. Neither of them seemed like they were worried about her dying. Her protests weren't swaying them.

"I'm tremendously opposed to this idea. I'd just like to go on the record as saying that." Ayla said, trembling.

George laughed. "You've made your point, and you'll be_ fine_. Now, the most important thing is to not let go of my hand, but I think you'll find that that's incredibly hard to do, so try not to worry too much." She already had his long, freckled fingers in a death grip.

"Oh, I'm trying not to, believe me." She muttered. "This doesn't feel safe. This is like going on a roller coaster without the safety restraints. What if we come apart?"

"I've never been on a roller coaster, you can tell me more about those later on, but trust me, hands will work just fine. You don't want to be particularly close to the person you're Apparating with." Before she could ask why, Fred interrupted.

"Remember the three D's, whatever you do!" he called in a tone of mock severity.

"Three D's?" Ayla asked. George's eyes sparked.

"I forgot all about those! Ah, that was ages ago. Let's see, there's dedication, destination…d-… is it _disintegration_?"

"What the hell?" Ayla cried. She tried to drop George's hands with the idea of moving herself far, far away from the situation, but he quickly tightened his hold on her. The twins dissolved into hysterics. She pulled against his arms childishly.

"No, don't!" George pleaded, trying to stop laughing. He yanked her back towards him. "I'm sorry. I know that's not it! Calm down, there's no disintegrating involved!"

Ayla glared at them both. "Oh, I _don't_ like this." She muttered again, reluctantly relenting.

"Okay, here we go." George said. "Ready?"

"Are you sure you're focused enough?" she asked, eyeing him with distrust.

"I've Apparated in far worse states than this, love." He assured with a wink.

"You should know better than that, Georgie!" Fred admonished. "Weren't you listening in class? Don't drink and Disapparate!" George barely suppressed a chortle.

"You're one to talk. Right. Hold on, Ayla. _One_... _Two_…" She closed her eyes in anticipation.

_CRACK._

There was no way she could have prepared for the sensation. Very suddenly, Ayla was aware of the intense compression of her entire body. She couldn't breathe, hear, or see. The only thing she could still feel was George latched onto her hands. He was right, it would have been impossible to let go of him. It was like being in a vacuum, and their palms had effectively been fused. It ended as abruptly as it had begun; the whole episode lasting barely two seconds.

Ayla felt her hands break free and her feet slam into the ground. She toppled over, knocking into something solid, and landed on her back. The heavy, solid thing rocked back and forth, and she was aware of being repeatedly thumped on the head. When she opened her eyes and blinked, she saw that she was covered in bouncing rubber chickens. George had only taken her as far as the next room, and she had crashed into the Muggle Magic display. Shoulders heaving with heavy breath, she tried to comprehend what had just happened to her. _I just Apparated. I was in one place, and now I'm in another. Shit._

George was standing over her, bent double and peering down.

"I fell." She breathed simply, looking up at him.

All he could do was raise an eyebrow. "Yes. Yes, you did."

"I didn't die."

He waved a hand in front of her face, which she was unable to focus on.

"It seems to me that you're alive. I'd dare say you are as radiant and unsplinched as I've ever seen you. Just as promised. So. You ready to meet our family?"

She shook her head from side to side, her pale blonde hair sufficiently mussed.

"Oh, no, no, no… I don't think I can handle that again, George. Too much excitement. I'd much rather go home a-and… read a book or something. Yeah, something less… exciting, like that."

Fred chose that very moment to appear behind his brother. It was like seeing double.

"Darling," he said frankly. "The last thing you need is less excitement. Don't take this the wrong way, but you're probably the second most boring person I've ever met in my entire life."

"Hey…" It came out as more of a whine. "I do actually have friends. Normal ones who… don't do things like _that_." She brushed a chicken from her shoulder and massaged her temple.

"I'm sure they're something marvelous." Fred asserted dryly.

"You know, I agree with Gred," added George solemnly. "In addition to the fact that our dear mother will be utterly heartbroken should you not come, you need a social occasion more than anybody I've ever seen. You're definitely coming with us."

"Well… alright. But give me a minute." she said, feeling slightly asthmatic. "I just need to take a few deep breaths, here."

"Hm, that was easy." said George, pleasantly surprised. He and his brother quickly drew their wands and reorganized the display behind her. A sudden thought occurred to her, as she marveled at the dim, aurora-like light emmitting from their wands.

"I really do want to meet your mother, I promise. Don't think my reluctance here has anything to do with me not wanting to have dinner with your family." The last thing she wanted to be was disrespectful, and it _was_ the truth. George smiled good-naturedly, and she was struck by how handsome the twins truly were in their flamboyant robes. She actually smiled back weakly. He took her hand again, pulling her easily to her feet.

"We know." He assured.

"Whatever you say…" lilted Fred at the same time.

And, with another deafening _CRACK _before she was entirely prepared, they were off.


	6. Chapter 6

_Wandless Magic_

_Chapter Six_

* * *

><p>To Ayla's great astonishment, upon arriving from her second Apparating venture, she and the muddy ground never came into contact. George had been well prepared this time, and she felt him quickly seize her around the middle once they arrived; effectively steadying her.<p>

"Alright?"

"Ugh, yeah, thanks." She muttered, straightening and brushing herself off. She couldn't imagine that ever being a comfortable sensation, despite how lovely it was having the handsome wizard's arms briefly twined around her. The mud she felt slowly squelching up around her shoes was also less than thrilling. She looked around. They seemed to have landed in a swampy, hilly field. The evening air was surprisingly chilly even though the sun had yet to set.

Fred was shortly behind, appearing with a loud cracking _pop_, and making her start.

"Home sweet home." He said, grinning, immediately beginning to slough up the hill directly in front of them. Ayla pulled her feet from the mud and laboriously followed the twins to the top; halfway there feeling strangely as though she was passing through some sort of viscous invisible barrier. She felt a bizarre popping in her inner ear.

"Whoa," she breathed, raising her hands and stopping short. "What was that?"

"Protective enchantments." George replied.

"They've apparently deemed you trustworthy." added Fred, looking back at her with a crooked half-smile.

"Or at least harmless…" said George. She started to move again, still astonished at the feeling of passing through it. It was like a bubble. "Why does your house need shielding enchantments like that?" She wondered aloud, ignoring his mild slight. "There's nothing like it at Father's flat…"

Ayla noticed a flash of surprised worry dart across George's face as he watched his feet take their long strides across the grass; hands in his pockets. "We probably ought to do something about that." he muttered before explaining, "Well, you see, our family isn't exactly known for supporting the pure-blood cause of the war. We're not the most popular people in the wizarding world, and it's about to get much worse. Dad just wants us to take every precaution. That barrier we just walked through wouldn't have been so kind to an enemy."

She suspected that he had given her a very brief, watered down explanation. They were holding something back. Perhaps their family was more heavily involved in the resistance than she had originally thought. Maybe that's why they had both been acting so strange around the shop lately.

Everyone was undoubtedly scared of _something;_ not just the Weasley's. Living as a functional Muggle for so many years, Ayla had relatively little concept of the Dark Lord beyond the fact that everyone was terrified of him, he had many followers, and he was grossly intolerant of Muggle-borns. Ayla was certainly no stranger to intolerance, and she pondered the likelihood of her experiences when she was younger being related to Voldemort's cause. It was certainly plausible, given the extent of his reach and the bigotry of the Wizarding World. He had disappeared years ago after attempting to murder a little boy, she had heard, and Ayla had been gone long before his return. She racked her mind for more things she might have heard before.

Her father usually only discussed the war when someone else brought it up. She knew he did quite a bit of thinking about it, however. She made a mental note to consult him. She certainly wasn't going to ask the twins if they didn't want to, or couldn't, talk about it. After all, she didn't know the nature of what they were hiding. It might not be appropriate that she know. Or maybe they were simply worried about scaring her… Wouldn't be the first time. Before Ayla could spend too much time working this information over in her mind, they had reached the summit, and she was greeted with the sight of the strangest house she had ever seen in her life.

"And _that_…" presented George with a half-hearted flourish, "is the home of our youth, Miss Sower."

The house, the very vertical Burrow, appeared to be constructed of different colored segments that were all balanced precariously on top of one another. Obviously, its structural foundation had been aided by magic, as it seemed to sway alarmingly in the wind. It was certainly no Muggle dwelling. Puffs of smoke rose and curled charmingly out of the chimney. Ramshackle though it was, it seemed to fit the twins so perfectly that Ayla couldn't be disappointed. There was no way she could imagine them having grown up any other place.

"Oh, it's adorable!" the words slipped from her lips before she could stop them.

Fred scoffed. "Not quite the word I would pick."

"Well, I think it's charming."

She followed them through a wild-looking garden and up to a peeling yellow front door, and thought she saw a potato with legs darting off to the side behind a bush. Her eyes widened and she blinked, not sure what she had just witnessed.

"Damn, I bet we'll have to de-gnome before dinner." Said George, peeved. _A gnome? _Ayla peered into the undergrowth, hoping to catch another glimpse. The twins were oblivious to her curiosity.

"Eh, just tell Mum it looks grand." Fred whispered shortly, quickly glancing around. He unlatched the door and pushed it open. There was an instant, loud shriek and the sound of clattering metal as someone rushed to the doorway. The twins cringed slightly, whether from embarrassment or genuine shock, Ayla couldn't tell.

"AH! My boys!"

Over George's shoulder, Ayla saw Fred hunching over, a pair of short arms wrapped tight around his neck.

"Ohh, so good to see you, Freddie."

"Merlin, Mum," he croaked, patting her on the back. "You only saw us Tuesday."

"Oh, I know." The woman said dismissively. "It's just so good to have you home. It's almost quiet without you two."

"Never thought I'd see the day when you actually missed the noise…" said George.

"We'd better take advantage of this, Forge. We don't know how long this sudden influx of mothering hormones will last." Fred replied, and his mother lightheartedly smacked him on the arm.

When she released him, Ayla got her first glimpse of Mrs. Weasley. The twins' mother was a short, plump, curly-haired witch clothed in a simple house dress and apron. The same flaming red hair adorned her head that graced her sons, and she had the same nose. Though exceedingly happy, perhaps relieved, to see her grown sons, Ayla couldn't help but notice the dark circles underneath Mrs. Weasley's eyes. She looked ragged. The woman met eyes with Ayla over George's shoulder as she squeezed his neck and pecked his cheek. She smiled kindly.

"You must be Miss Ayla Sower. Welcome to the Burrow, dear." She said, very kindheartedly, as she hurriedly ushered the twins out of the doorway. They continued on to the next room, where Ayla could hear voices.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Weasley." Ayla said politely, flashing a smile, pleased that the witch already knew her name. Mrs. Weasley grasped her extended arm with both hands, warmly shaking. Her palms were incredibly soft. Ayla was reminded of her own mother with a pang. "Ah, call me Molly, dear. Arthur and I are _so_ happy that you could join us tonight."

"Thank you so much for inviting me. That was very sweet of you all."

"Not at all, dearie. The twins have been so grateful for all your help. I absolutely cannot wait to try these pastries of yours. Though, please, leave out the vomiting potion or whatever those boys have injected into it. Oh…" The witch waved her wand distractedly, and the door behind Ayla swung shut with a snap.

"Tell me, do you like Shepherd's Pie?" she asked, still smiling.

"Oh, I absolutely love it!" The aroma drifting in the air was something exquisite.

"Good, good!" she exclaimed, clapping once. "Wonderful. Well, come on in—oh, wait a moment, your shoes, Ayla."

With a flood of embarrassment Ayla remembered the mud. "Oh! Sorry! I'm not sure what…" But Molly had raised her wand again, and with a flick, the muck had vanished. She smiled at Ayla, as the latter blushed and grinned feebly.

"There now, no harm done. Speaking of which, Fred and George just trampled right on through to the sitting room, didn't they? I'd better go clean up the mess. They're like hurricanes, those two! I suppose you know that already, after being in that nightmare of a shop..."

Molly made an exasperated noise and bustled off around the corner towards the loud voices, casting more cleaning spells as she went. Ayla took a moment to glance around the room. It appeared to be a centrally planned home, with a circular bottom and rickety wooden staircase rising from the center. It was positively cozy, with lots of exposed brick and wood. She was standing in the kitchen, which clearly doubled as a dining room; a long table with mismatched chairs and place settings seemed to squeeze into the space as if by magic, and a steaming pot stirred itself on the stove. It had been so long since she had been in a fully-functioning wizarding home that Ayla marveled at the sight of it. She ran her fingers pensively along the weathered surface of the table.

"Ayla?" George had rounded the corner, apparently looking for her. "What are you doing?" There was humor in his inquiring voice. He had shed his work jacket and vest, and the sight of him so casual surprised her. He appeared very tall in the closed space. She was secretly glad he had come back to the kitchen; she wouldn't be forced to awkwardly enter the crowded sitting room all on her own.

"Just having a look." She answered honestly, smiling at him. "I've never been in a house like this. Well… not for a terribly long time, at least. It's wonderful. "

George ambled towards the stove, plunged his finger into the pot, and had a taste. He made a satisfied noise before turning towards her. "You know, that's what everyone says when they see it for the first time. I don't get what all the fuss is, to be honest. I mean, it's home; obviously I like it. But it's nothing spectacular."

"Oh, but it is." She replied, still looking around, now focusing on a very peculiar grandfather clock. She tried to suppress her urge to touch it. "You should have seen my old flat… Dreary and about as magical as a rock."

"That would depend on the type of rock." He kidded dryly.

"The non-magical sort." She humored, giving him a look and chuckling. She pointed to the clock face. "So… _why_ does this clock say that your entire family is in mortal peril?"

He laughed aloud, taking a swig from a nearby glass of water. "Not exactly a comforting thing to see in your kitchen, is it?"

"That's kind of where my mind was going with that, yeah. Also, it must be terribly bothersome when you actually want to know the time."

"Oh, bothersome as hell." He agreed before adding seriously, "But, I suppose it's trying to let us know that none of us are safe right now. It's kind of Mum's way of keeping tabs on us all. There're so many of us. The way things are now, mortal peril fits the bill for everybody, unfortunately."

"That's so depressing."

"It is. But considerably less depressing than being dead, in my opinion."

Ayla noticed that _Mortal Peril_ on the clock was right next to _Deceased_, which no one was at the moment. She could imagine Mrs. Weasley hurriedly checking each morning before she prepared breakfast. It was quite gloomy. She wondered if herself and Father could be classed the same way.

"How long exactly did you live in the Muggle world?" George asked suddenly. She turned back to him, surprised. He was leaning casually against the countertop, his probing eyes giving away his avid curiosity. "Everything seems like such a shock to you here. It must have been a while."

Ayla twisted her palms, a nervous habit. She wondered how long he had been curious. The twins had been careful about not delving too deeply into personal matters in their shop. They had scarcely discussed anything beyond work-related topics with her in the entirety of the past two months. It was all cakes and jokes, and 'Hey, Ayla, try this! It won't hurt, we promise!', and she usually ended up embarrassed. Understandably, she was taken aback by the abrupt inquiry. She wondered if it meant they were becoming friends. That wouldn't be so bad.

"I suppose… about six and a half years now. Very long story short, I moved out when I was fifteen, after my mum died. My mum was Muggleborn, and I stayed with my aunt's family in London. They sent me to a Muggle school, where I prepared for university. It was so nice not to constantly be around magic, as wonderful as it can sometimes be... It's always made me a bit uncomfortable. Even more so since we lost Mum."

"How did she die?" George asked quietly. She had to admire his forwardness.

"A wayward spell." Ayla answered, looking down at her gleaming shoes. "A complete accident. She was in St. Mungo's for a week."

"I'm sorry to hear it."

She looked up at him and smiled vaguely. "It's alright. It was a long time ago. Dad and I are happy to talk about her. She was a wonderful witch."

"I couldn't imagine… I suppose that's why magic is unsettling to you."

"Well, admittedly, yes. But there are other reasons, too. You know, not having powers, not getting the letter to Hogwarts like your friends, and being essentially defenseless… It never really lends itself to the utmost confidence. You feel inadequate without it, and other people view you as inadequate. Magic can be used for so many horrible things."

She felt her mind returning to a dark place, and had to fight to keep the familiar trembling out of her fingers. It was relatively easily handled after years of practice, but George's gaze made it difficult for some inexplicable reason. She realized that she had implied too much when his eyebrows furrowed and he started to look suspicious and concerned again. She put her hands behind her back.

"That's enough of that." Ayla amended quickly, averting her eyes. At that moment, she despised her awkwardness. Maybe she could tell him one day. A roar of laughter erupted in the next room. "Shouldn't I go meet your family now?" she asked, now remembering where she was. "It's a little strange that I'm still standing in their kitchen. They're going to think I'm a terrible person, or at least horribly shy… which is probably closer to the truth."

It took George a moment to respond. He blinked. "Yeah. Yeah, they've probably already formed a pretty negative opinion of you. I'm afraid there's no going back." He teased, slipping back into his easy smile. He pushed himself away from the counter, beckoning her to follow. "I hope you're mentally prepared."

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><p>AN: Thanks for reading. Dinner in the next chapter! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**_Author's Note: Hopefully the wait has been worth it, as this is my longest chapter yet. I could have waited longer and proofread it even more, and made more minute changes... but I figured you guys really just wanted to get on with the story. It probably isn't as good as it could be, but I hope it's swell, and everything you were hoping for in a dinner with the Weasley's! Enjoy! And please review!_**

_Wandless Magic_

_Chapter Seven_

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><p>Dinner at the Weasley household commenced with all the customary warmth and spectacle George remembered from his childhood. He and Fred were right; their mother truly had outdone herself in lieu of their new guest. Not to say in the least that her cooking was ever drab with only family members present; it was simply even more magnificent than usual. His mother was used to cooking for crowds, and had prepared a dazzling array of food. Curling steam rose from every dish in the center of the table and carried pleasant aromas to his nostrils. He was starving. He licked his lips and started heaping food onto his plate.<p>

He glanced to his side to evaluate their guest's expression, though he wouldn't admit that that's what he was doing. The small young woman was sandwiched tightly between him and Fred, hands demurely in her lap. She seemed to be taking it all in. The warmth of the kitchen had put a rosy tint to her cheeks, and for the first time George noticed the light sprinkling of freckles across her nose. He focused on his food again before his eyes lingered too long. She looked somewhat nervous still, though George couldn't fathom her shyness. Timidity was something he had never experienced for himself. She was perfectly gracious with everyone, and they all clearly approved of her, so he was particularly confused. The hardest part, meeting the family initially, was surely over.

There was, of course, the possibility that her tension had to do with his complete and total idiocy in the kitchen earlier. He was usually more eloquent and charming when with women. When he and Fred had introduced her to their present family members in the sitting room minutes before, George felt a growing twinge of guilt for bringing up her past so inelegantly, and he definitely wasn't feeling any better yet. It had been the wrong time to suddenly inquire about it. After two months working with Ayla, even beginning to consider her a friend, he had had no idea about her mother. To bring it up so blatantly with his own wonderful mum in the next room seemed increasingly callous. She hadn't seemed terribly upset, but he was still mentally kicking himself; over and over into a bloody pulp. Despite this, he had to admit that his curiosity was peaked. She was like a particularly stubborn nut he had to crack, and yet he had to be careful not to push her.

George had noticed the way the light in her eyes had changed when she made that veiled comment about magic doing terrible things. What's more, Fred and he had obviously taken advantage of her discomfort with magic in their shop over the past weeks for laughs. They had ascertained that it was simply because she had been away from it for a number of years, but it clearly went deeper than that. He would ask his brother to hold back on the pranking for a bit until he could find out more. The way her mother had died would take a toll on anyone. Could it also be that she, herself, had been hurt? Perhaps she was also hit with a wayward spell. He wondered if it had anything to do with that piece of shit Quincy Downing. His fists involuntarily clenched around his fork and knife at the thought.

The twins had managed to keep the Death Eater at bay for the week, and George had only seen the smarmy bastard once; lurking as usual in the shadows across the street. He clearly had nothing better to do if still he had time to waste on drunken loitering. Fred had suggested that Downing could be tailing them because of their known association with Harry Potter, which was highly plausible. Of course Voldemort wouldn't waste a high-ranking Death Eater for that job. Even if Downing was nothing but a low-rank minion, it still made the twins incredibly uncomfortable to have him around. They were getting especially anxious given that Harry's birthday, and the Order's plan to move him, was fast approaching. George knew that their involvement would very likely guarantee the ransacking of the shop. As such, they were both a bit more on edge than usual; and also discreetly trying to convert more and more business to owl order.

Downing's offhand comments about Ayla still made George's stomach crawl just as much as they had before. It was another reason he had to talk with her, and soon. It was one thing that he and Fred were being watched, but when it came to their employees' safety, the issue was harder to swallow. They would have to seriously consider the possibility of letting Ayla and Verity go before too long, as depressing a thought as it was to entertain.

His brother's voice stirred him from his reverie.

"Aren't you going to eat, love?" Fred had asked Ayla loudly, clearly relishing in the fact that she was plainly not in her comfort zone. She jumped slightly and flushed. She really did that entirely too often. George could see the delight in his twin's eyes. He felt his lips rising into an identical smirk, his previous worries dissolving.

"Yeah, you have to hurry in this family," said Ginny from across the table, "Especially with this lump being here." She nudged Ron heavily in the ribs, and potatoes gushed from his overstuffed mouth. He grunted at her before shoveling more in.

"Ron, that's disgusting." George stated, watching his brother eat and feeling sickened. He was certain Ron had gotten worse over the years. He was hopeless. George sincerely hoped his brother never had to go an extended period without food, or else everyone in his immediate vicinity would be in danger of his biting moodiness and eventually cannibalism. He voiced this to the amusement of the table, receiving a death glare from his brother that he returned with a condescending wink. When George could finally tear his eyes away from the massacre, he saw that Fred had snatched Ayla's plate and was making selections for her; giving her nearly more than the dish could hold. She protested lightly.

"I was getting to it, Fred!" she chided, pulling feebly at his sleeve. "I was just overwhelmed by how fantastic it all looks."

"There's no time for dilly-dallying in life." He responded.

"Of course there is…"

He ignored her weak protest. "Do you like cinnamon carrots? Of course you do! What was I thinking? That's a silly question. Mum's carrots are the best. And you probably should try the peas and the roasted pota-"

"Give ze' girl a break, Vred." Sang Fleur from next to Bill. She flipped her hair over her shoulder with a motion that looked practiced. "She's zo tiny; she'll never be able to eet zat much."

"Since when was being tiny a valid reason not to stuff yourself?" Fred asked incredulously, finally satisfied that Ayla's plate now held a substantial sampling of everything on the table. He plopped it before her, carrots and peas spilling off the side and into her lap, much to her consternation.

"_Men._" Fleur muttered into her wine glass. "Zey never understand 'ow easily women gain veight." She was leaning up against Bill in a way most unbecoming of the family dinner table. Fred cocked an eyebrow at them.

"Careful, Fleur." he warned. "You might awaken some primal instincts there if you aren't too careful. Wouldn't want to spoil the wedding night."

"Going to be on the full moon, is it?" added George, smirking.

Bill flicked a pea in George's direction, missing by several feet.

"Wow. You should have gone out for Chaser, Bill."

"Probably could have gone pro with a little work." Fred alleged.

"Shut it, you two. Just because you don't have my rugged good looks, you feel it necessary to pick on me."

"They feel it necessary to pick on everyone," mumbled Ron moodily through a mouthful of yams.

"Ah, if I needed your rugged werewolf looks to get birds, Bill, I wouldn't have had so many already. There must be something they can't get enough of," said Fred, turning and winking at Ayla. He gave her a smile which he clearly believed to be debonair.

"Hmph." She focused her attention on the plate, eating a bite of the carrots. She said noncommittally, "You're right. These are exceptional carrots." She smiled cheekily at Fred's look of mock outrage.

Ginny chuckled.

"Not as attractive as you think, I suppose." She teased.

"Oi! I take offense to that," said George. His sister made a face at him, which he returned. Fred hadn't seemed to notice the exchange. He continued, pensively.

"I've been trying for years to figure it out, what it is they like, yeah. I think maybe I finally have. It's_ got_ to be the big, long, _throbbing_-"

_BAM. _George's mum slammed down her goblet, sloshing pumpkin juice onto the roast ham before her.

Ayla's fork clattered to the table, and she choked on her carrots.

"Frederick _Fabian_ Weasley!" Molly screeched from her seat. "You will stop this nonsense at once. We have a _guest_, and it would be _so_ lovely to have a normal family dinner _without_ inappropriate innuendos."

"This seems like a normal family dinner to me…" Ginny muttered, making a visible effort not to laugh. Her mum shot her a venomous look. Ayla continued to cough, getting a drink of water. Fred and Bill were already practically dissolving into fits of laughter, their faces going red. Fleur rolled her eyes, untangling herself from her fiancé as though disgusted.

"Still happy to have us home, Mum? Nothing short of a welcome respite from a hum-drum everyday life, isn't it?" George asked, grinning at her as she fumed. He turned to Ayla and gave her a firm pat on the back. "Alright there?"

She had a hand at her throat. "Yeah, thanks."

"I'm so sorry, dear," apologized Molly profusely, "I don't know where they get it from. Certainly not _my_ side of the family. Wait 'til your father gets home, boys! He won't be in a mood for this kind of juvenile behavior tonight."

The two erupted into another peal of laughter, tears forming in their eyes.

"Oh this is ridiculous." Molly said, throwing up her hands. "You're going into hysterics. See if either of you get any treacle pudding for dessert!"

It was comical how quickly they both calmed down at the threat. They turned incredulously to their mother, who was stabbing at her plate with pursed lips.

"But what did_ I_ do?" asked Bill petulantly.

"Ah, but Mum! It was just a little joke. I wasn't _actually_ going to say pen-"

"Heavens!" she shouted, drowning out Fred's last word. "I've had it. I've really had it! If you were younger, I'd send you to your room without dinner!"

"Sorry, Mum." Fred ceded with his head down, though still snorting and hiccoughing with mirth along with the majority of the table. "I couldn't resist it. Once a joke pops into my head it's hard to stop it coming out."

"I'll vouch for that one." George nodded seriously.

Molly shook her head, muttering furiously, and plunged her fork into her pie.

At that moment, very suddenly, the front door burst open with a bang, causing Mrs. Weasley and her sons, sans Ron, to leap to their feet and draw their wands reflexively, all laughter immediately coming to a halt.

An _expelliarmus_ charm was on the tip of George's tongue before he realized that it was only his dad coming home from a long day at the Ministry. His father's eyes widened and his hands rose in surrender at the unorthodox greeting.

"It's only me!"

Everyone heaved a sigh of relief and slowly lowered their wands. Molly shuffled quickly over to her husband. His briefcase thumped onto the floor. The exhaustion was plain on his face. The Ministry was a veritable battleground at the present time, George knew.

"Poppet," his father sighed.

"Oh, Arthur," she coddled, giving him a peck on the cheek. "Sorry. The conversation got a bit loud, and we didn't hear you come up the way. Do try not to bang the door like that; you scared me half to death."

"Yeah, scared more than just you, Mum" Bill added. "Good to see you, Dad."

George pocketed his wand and slowly lowered himself along with his brothers. Ayla had a look of open shock on her face, mouth slightly open, and gripped her napkin in front of her. Her knuckles had turned white. The dinner party was turning into something much less than a success, George realized.

"Well… Someone correct me if this isn't as awkward as I'm sensing it is." Fred said under his breath.

"Yeah, sorry about that." George whispered to Ayla, knowing she must be thinking his family was fit for the loony wing at St. Mungo's.

"'S alright." She replied. She was clearly too polite or embarrassed to comment further, but her fingers loosened. Her eyebrows had furrowed. Everyone began to converse normally again. George conceded that there would need to be some explaining even sooner than he thought, lest he and his family completely scare her away.

"Ah!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, after a brief conversation with his eldest son, moving around the table to squeeze Ayla's hand. He shook it vigorously from side to side. Her face immediately perked up at the sight of him. "Miss Sower. Wonderful to see you again. So glad to have you for dinner. How're you shaping up at the shop? Oven and everything working smoothly?"

"Hello, Mr. Weasley-"

"-Oh, call me Arthur, please."

"_Arthur_. Everything's spectacular, thank you. I couldn't have done anything without your help, and I still really appreciate it all. But now that you mention it, the oven does have a slight problem with the preheating mechanism, though, that I can't figure out. You see, it's almost as though it gets _too_ hot during that process. And the whole thing starts to smoke until it reaches the correct ambient temperature."

"Really, when do you start to notice the problem?"

"Wait, smoke?" Fred asked, inserting himself into the conversation. "Is the shop in danger of exploding into flames?"

"No! I don't think it's that serious. I would have mentioned it sooner."

"I would hope so…" Fred said, looking a bit worried despite himself.

She launched into a description of the preheating issue that George didn't understand. His father listened as he moved around the table to his seat. Fred's eyes glazed over once he was certain the shop was in no risk of immediate harm. George had to mentally applaud him for making the effort to pay attention, however.

"Aha!" Arthur exclaimed suddenly, interrupting her spiel. He raised a finger matter-of-factly. "That would be a result of a feature I added myself to decrease preheating time. Is it burning anything, you say? Smoking? That certainly isn't supposed to happen."

A dawning expression appeared on Ayla's face. "You know, I thought it was heating extremely quickly! That's ingenious. But it only started smoking just this week. Nothing's been burned yet. I try to wait until the smoke stops to throw anything in. How'd you make it capable of that? It's so fast! Faster than any at my old bakery."

Arthur got a sly look on his face, and made sure his wife was busy in conversation with Ginny and Fleur. He leaned forward conspiratorially.

"Enchantment." His eyes twinkled excitedly. Ayla looked intrigued.

"Dad takes apart muggle objects and puts them back together with magic." George explained lowly. "It's not exactly legal."

"It's perfectly legal, son; I write the laws." He looked a bit incensed as he loaded his plate.

"Of course." George smirked. "And when the rouge eyelash curlers are released back into the Muggle world, they put out people's eyes and eat off their toenails. I remember that article from a few months ago in the _Prophet_. A real sprucing up of page nine, I thought."

"Oh, hush up, George. That wasn't my department's fault. All this bloody paperwork they've got me buried under…Those eyelash curlers, though…" He got a quizzical, unfocused look in his eye, "interesting looking contraptions, wouldn't you agree?"

"Dunno. Never seen them." George ceded.

"I, uhm… I have one." Ayla peeped, raising a hand.

That caught his father's undivided attention almost immediately. He leaned forward again excitedly. His eyes twinkled brightly. Christmas had come early, George was certain. "Really? Let's see it then!"

She slowly reached for her leather bag, looking puzzled but amused. She seemed to have the attention of everyone at the table. George had to admit that he was also curious. Muggle objects were a strange breed. He couldn't believe some of the things they dreamed up to get by without magic, and he was nowhere closer to comprehending electricity than before.

"I normally wouldn't carry around something so frivolous." Ayla insisted, flustered. George found it somewhat endearing. She kept digging through her bag. "But my eyelashes are wild sometimes. And this was a special occasion. Hold on a tick…"

At last she removed a small, gleaming silver object, holding it over the table for everyone to see. "Here it is."

She held it through one of its loops on her pinky, and everyone edged forward a bit in their seats to get a good look. It looked like a pair of curved scissors with some kind of tiny iron at the end instead of a blade. George's mouth fell open a little.

"That _thing_." Fred balked after a stunned silence, "is supposed to go near your _eye_?"

"Muggles are idiots." Ron said, losing interest and returning to his third helping of shepherd's pie.

"Zat is nothing." Said Fleur, nonchalantly flipping her hair over her shoulder again. "In France ve are prepared to suffer vor our beauty, too."

"How does it work?" asked Ginny.

"Yes. Yes, please tell us!" urged Mr. Weasley.

"Well," Ayla began, rotating it in her hand. "You just kind of, bring it up close to your eye, like this…"

Fred actually cringed away. "Careful. Those things will eat your toenails."

"I used it this afternoon. My toenails are still intact, and my eyes are just fine." She promised, moving it up to her eye again.

"She's right." George's father said seriously, looking like he was about to shit his pants from the sheer thrill. "They found all of the cursed ones. This couldn't possibly be one of those. Carry on, dear."

"Alright." She grabbed a spoon to use as an impromptu mirror. "Then you just… make sure all of your eyelashes are in the curler, being careful not to get any of the skin, and then you… squeeze."

"Merlin!" Fred shuddered.

"That's horrifying." Said George, wincing.

"_Fascinating_!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "Mind if I have a look?"

"Of course." Ayla held it over the table towards him, her thigh momentarily pressing more firmly into George's. It seemed exceedingly warm through her skirt.

"I'll never understand why women feel they have to do things like that for us," said Bill with a shake of his head; his long, scraggly hair moving with the motion.

"Who says ve do it vor you?" Fleur teased. George quickly averted his eyes as she pulled Bill in for a lingering kiss. His brother's tongue was not something he wanted to witness at the dinner table. He couldn't wait until they were married and out of the Burrow for at least a little while. He loved his brother, but something about the presence of Fleur brought about the parts of him that George had no interest in knowing about.

"I don't think I would notice whether or not a girl's eyelashes were curled," Fred insisted.

"As long as she's got a gigantic pair of bazongers, right? And who really cares with the lights off anyway?" Ginny teased, her nose scrunching up the way it always did when she found something particularly silly and amusing.

"_Ginny_!" George's Mum had almost had enough for one night.

"As a matter of fact," Fred replied, sticking his nose up in the air in a way that made him look dangerously similar to Percy. George would have to warn him about it later. "I _do_ have higher standards than that, Ginevra. I am a gentleman. Right, Georgie?"

"What? Oh, yeah. That's what the ladies like."

George shook himself slightly as his sister chuckled and brother cocked an eyebrow at him. He was quickly tiring of the family banter. His father was now turning the eyelash curler in his hands with a look of complete absorption. He repeatedly lifted it up to his eye and then took it down, muttering things like "_ingenious_!" and "_fascinating_!" Ayla watched him bemusedly, arms crossed in front of her on the table. Most of them were finished eating now.

"Your dad is brilliant." She whispered to George, a nice smile gracing her smooth face. The candlelight made the sheen of a long day seem to glisten on her forehead.

"Yeah, thanks for bringing that thing out, as excruciating as it looks." He replied quietly, half-grinning. He fingered the rim of his goblet thoughtfully, vaguely contemplating the heat he could still feel from their touching thighs. He saw no reason to move his leg away, though there was room for him to if he so chose. She could have shifted anytime, also. It made him inwardly smug. This kind of quiet flirting, and he wasn't so sure he intended it to be flirting, wasn't his usual style. He was rather enjoying it. Surely she noticed too. He continued softly, "That's probably the only time he's been genuinely happy all day."

Ayla's smile faltered a bit as she watched Mr. Weasley almost pityingly. George was beginning to realize exactly how often her emotion showed plainly on her face. He pondered ways of distracting her, though he doubted his father would have noticed her furrowed brows and concerned eyes.

"My father told me they were having a rough time at the Ministry these days." She mused.

"It's pretty horrid. Dad's working incredibly long hours and having a mad time trying to tiptoe around some of the new management. You-Know-Who's almost certainly infiltrated."

"How does everyone manage to stay without getting hurt?" she seemed surprised.

George gave a humorless laugh. "They _are _getting hurt. They're about to start inquiries into people's blood status. It's despicable. Most people are half-bloods or less nowadays anyway, you know? You wonder if there will actually be anyone left."

She nodded pensively. "What is your family?"

"_Pureblood_. Whatever that really means… The only _true_ Purebloods have obviously inbreeded. Just look at the Malfoys," He seethed. "I guess we're safe in that respect. Not going to last for long though. We're blood traitors, if you haven't heard."

"If by 'blood traitor' you mean Muggle sympathizer, I think that's very admirable." She said with conviction. "Muggles are some of the most interesting and genuine people I've ever met. They've accomplished great feats without magic; ones that would have Voldemort stupefied into next year if he had to figure them out."

It was the most sincere and self-assured thing George had ever heard her utter. Her voice didn't tremble even once. He smiled genuinely. After she said it, however, she tucked her head in the slightest bit, pushing her golden hair behind her ears with a dainty finger.

"Watch out." He warned, partly teasing. "You're getting dangerously close to Weasley levels of blood traitor there. Pretty soon you'll be being sucked into the inquiries too."

"Well, I'm not entirely Pureblood, so I'm not sure it's possible for me to be a blood traitor, is it? I doubt they'll be thinking too highly of Squibs anyway, if the past is any indication. Particularly one who is so assimilated into the Muggle world. I would be idiotic to choose his side even if it were something I believed in."

"I'm exceedingly happy it _isn't_ something you believe in." He raised his goblet to her. "To, great, _dirty_ blood traitors."

"To the great, dirty blood traitors." She murmured after a moment, acquiescing to his silliness. She clinked her cup against his, and he could see her grin.

* * *

><p>Later, after dinner, the responsibility fell to George to see Ayla home for the evening. No one was comfortable with her Flooing from somewhere so late at night, and Ayla, who would still have preferred it, was about as comfortable with Apparition as she had been before.<p>

"Oh, I'm going to vomit." She said when they stood alone outside of the Burrow's protective enchantments and he offered up his arm.

"You did so well the last time." He assured. "It's really nothing."

Still, she seemed eager to stall, ignoring his arm. He could tell she was getting chilled in the night air, however, the way she rubbed her hands against her upper arms to create friction.

"Listen," she said, meeting his eyes. "Thank you for inviting me tonight. It was truly brilliant. The best meal I've had in ages. Your family is unbelievably wonderful. All so kind and generous."

It was a sincere compliment, and he responded with his trademark good-natured smile. He lowered his arm, allowing her a few more moments of relative safety.

"Of course." He replied. "I hope you realize that my Mum is going to expect you every week now. You can join in the crowd. There will be more soon. They're expecting some late summer visitors for Bill and Fleur's wedding. I think she enjoys having a large group to cook for."

"That would be brilliant."

Ayla probably blushed as she awkwardly looked at the knobby ground underneath her. Her shivering was obvious.

"Glad you think so. Now, come on, you're freezing; stop trying to hide it, I can tell." He admonished, wrenching her hand with some difficulty from her crossed arms. "It will be over in a couple of seconds, and you'll be warm. It's outside of the Underground closest to Diagon Alley, yes?"

She eventually nodded, clenching her fingers around his. This ignited a curious flame in him again that he didn't understand. He almost laughed when he saw how tightly her eyes were shut and how tense she became as she anticipated the Apparating. He counted off for her benefit before feeling the familiar sensation.

_Crack._

Ayla didn't fall. They appeared before a door in a tight parlor with a small dangling chandelier overhead. He had to pride himself on his superb Apparating ability. It was a wonder he had made it there safely with Ayla in tow, being as the room was so small. Under no circumstance would he ever mention this to her, of course. The hall smelled musty, but not at all unpleasant.

"Is this it?" he inquired.

Ayla nodded, still holding onto his hand and swaying. He decided to let her until she felt comfortable again. She looked frazzled, but he couldn't help but notice how much of an improvement it was from her first trip.

"I'll wait until you get in." he assured, nodding toward the door.

"Thanks."

She released his hand, leaving it strangely cold, as she searched her bag for a key. Finding it, she shuffled around him in the cramped space and inserted it into the lock.

"Hmm… that's odd." She mused, cocking her head to the side.

"What?"

"It's unlocked." She whispered, beginning to seem scared. "It's never unlocked. Father can't get to the door himself, and I'm positive I locked it on my way out."

George inhaled slowly, gritting his teeth, the seed of fear planted in his chest. "Let me." He drew his wand, and moved in front of her. Her hand clutched the fabric of his jacket sleeve as she peered around him. He slowly reached out and pushed open the front door to Ayla's underground home, a sense of dread pulsating through his veins.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Hello again, readership! Sorry it's been so long, but I haven't had the time or imagination to write since school started back. Thanksgiving break gave me some time to scrounge up some inspiration. I'm hoping to have the next chapter up shortly. :) Enjoy! And let me know what you're thinking!

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><p>The size of the room was inestimable in the darkness, and eerily quiet. George held his wand aloft as his other hand slid along the creaking door, slowly moving over the threshold. Ayla's hand still clutched tightly at his dragon-hide jacket from behind, and an uncomfortable feeling stirred in his stomach.<p>

"_Lumos,_" he muttered, unsure.

At once the room was alight under the beam of his wand. It was large, and as his eyes adjusted he could see moonlight streaming through the high windows all along the square Italianate ceiling. Everywhere was strewn with papers, smashed objects, and books. Posters had been torn from the walls and were lying in tatters on the floor, their occupants moving frantically about in their shorn frames.

"_God."_ Ayla shuddered against his arm as she moved around him. "Father?" she whispered.

"Wait." George murmured, holding out a hand to still her. "_Homenum revelio."_

The invisible spell passed like a swift breath of wind through the flat, unsettling scraps of parchment and dust as it went, before collecting at a huddled mass near the center of the room, giving a sign of life. There was only one other person there. As though brought on by the charm, a meager cough emitted from the spot, and Ayla gasped, pushing past George before he could grasp her wrist. "Ayla, wait!" he whispered urgently, knowing it could be a trap. He followed at her heels to the now moaning lump, his wand pointed directly at it and a curse on the tip of his tongue. It appeared to be sticking out from beneath a very large over-turned chaise lounge. His heart jumped to his throat as Ayla knelt down and peered beneath it, her eyes desperate. He opened his mouth to tell her to step back, but she interrupted.

"George, it's my father!" she exclaimed. "Help me move this, it's crushing him!"

He lowered his wand. Together they heaved the surprisingly heavy antique piece of furniture over onto its other side and away from Mr. Sower, where its forceful landing sent parchment flying. George thought briefly to himself with heavy breath that it would have been much easier for him just to use magic. Immediately, his thoughts halted when he saw Ayla's father. The unexpectedly old man was heaped onto the floor with several of his limbs sticking out at horrifying angles. He moaned, not seeming to realize that they were there.

"Merlin's beard…" said George in disbelief, turning swiftly and sending flames into the empty grate he now saw behind them. With more light, George got to his knees beside Ayla. She was distraught. Her mouth gaped as she reached for her father's bloody face, wanting to touch him, but apparently uncertain as to whether she should.

"Father, what_ happened_?" she moaned, her eyes watering. "Oh,_ God_. What's going on? Who could have done this?"

George leaned at once over the beaten man, trying to quell the fury boiling in his veins. He certainly had an idea as to who had done this. Currently, however, his anger wouldn't help anything. He needed to focus. There would be time for revenge later. Dropping his wand, he fumbled quickly through his jacket pockets, trying to find his emergency vial of dittany. It came in handy frequently at the shop when he and his brother were testing potentially dangerous new products. Hanging around Mad-Eye so much had also taught him a few things about being constantly prepared.

"_Damn_…" he muttered. He couldn't possibly be without it, could he?

"What?" Ayla asked looking petrified. "George, what's the matter?"

"Ah! Here it is. Have you got a bowl of water?" he asked her, shaking the little bottle and untwisting the stopper.

"Y-yeah. Yes, of course!" Ayla hopped up, stumbling a bit and hurrying from the room to what he guessed was the kitchen.

George set to work on Mr. Sower's face, trying not to let the profuse amount of blood make him ill. Little stars were beginning to dance before his eyes. "Pull yourself together." he mentally coached himself. He was all but pouring the essence over the elderly wizard's skin in his hurry and desperation. It seemed to be working more slowly than usual.

"Come on, damn it…" he urged through gritted teeth, hoping they were not too late in finding him. He wondered how long the poor man had been laying there underneath that heavy chaise. He was certainly close to death from bleeding out from surface wounds if not by punctured organs. Finally, the cuts began to diminish in size, and George felt immediate relief wash over him.

Ayla barreled back into the room in an impossibly rapid amount of time, water sloshing from a large basin as she tripped, barely managing to keep from falling headfirst onto the floor. She crouched down by George again, and he could feel her violent trembling.

"Will this do?" she asked hysterically, dropping the bowl and pulling a towel off of her shoulder. "What is that? What are you doing? _George_?"

"That'll work." he responded with a quick nod. "This is dittany. It'll heal most surface wounds with just a few drops. Brilliant stuff. Look him over for me, Aye. Are there any more injuries than what's on his face? Gashes or cuts, I mean?"

Ayla hurriedly scanned her father's prostrate and broken body. She could hardly fathom what she was looking at, it all feeling like a blur in time. The dinner at the Burrow was a million miles away, and a fear and sickness unlike any other threatened to consume her. It was worry beyond the deepest worrying she had ever felt. Even Apparating would have been a welcome respite. She felt like vomiting, and her heart thumped painfully in her chest. Slick blood made her hands and knees slide on the wooden floorboards. George moved quickly beside her, focused and determined as he set about healing her father's torn skin. She fleetingly wondered if he had had experience in this type of situation before.

Hands shaking fiercely, she pushed up the reddened nightshirt at her father's waist, and gasped.

"George!" she shrieked. "Here! On his stomach!"

In an instant, the red-headed man moved down and began applying the dittany to the cavernous gash at her father's side. She groaned at the sight of it. Ayla watched in awe as the wound began to shrink.

"That means he's still okay, right? That it's healing?"

"Yes. It should." he replied. "He's definitely alive."

The wound had nearly shut when the dropper could suck no more liquid from the vial. It made a pitiful spitting noise.

"Shit." George cursed to himself. "Alright, that's all we've got. I didn't have much to begin with." He dropped the bottle with a clatter and looked up at her with probing eyes. "Listen, Ayla, it's going to be alright. Just stay calm, use the water and try to clean him up. If you see bleeding still, try to put pressure on it. I'll be right back; I'm going to Floo St. Mungo's."

"Okay." she said weakly.

With that, George rose and hastened over to the fire he had set a few moments earlier and dropped to his knees again. He pulled something out of his pocket and threw it into the dancing flames. They erupted emerald green, and before Ayla knew what he was doing, he had belted out the name of the wizarding hospital and shoved his head into the blaze. She could hear muffled speaking. Not thinking to question it, she turned and immediately started removing the blood from her father's face and side with the towel she had brought, tears clouding her vision. She hated blood, and seeing it on the one person she cared about above all others at once repulsed and terrified her.

"Oh, dad." she cried hopelessly. "Don't worry. I'm here now, and you're going to be alright. Me and George are going to take you to the hospital. We'll find who did this. Just please hold on."

He moved ever so slightly, and she hoped he could hear her.

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><p>Hours later, Ayla jerked awake. She was sitting slumped in an uncomfortable chair, and George Weasley was standing before her, holding a steaming cup of tea, a hand touching her shoulder gently. Everything came rushing back to her as she accepted his offering with muted thanks. Her head pounded, and her neck was stiff. He looked about as exhausted as she felt, with dark circles under his heavy-lidded eyes, bloodstained clothes, and mussed hair.<p>

"What time is it?" she asked, blowing at the tea.

"'Bout four in the morning." he responded, his voice a bit scraggly.

"God. George, you should go home." she said, sounding monotonous. "I can take it from here. I'll be fine."

"No." he said, sinking into the chair next to her with his own mug. "I'm not going to leave you alone, so you're wasting energy telling me that every half hour."

"But you have to work in the morning." she said feebly, assuming correctly that she would be taking the day off.

"That's very true." he replied. "I think I'll survive. Don't you worry. This lad's had his fair share of all-nighters." He winked at her in a weak attempt at humor. "My brother and I used to stay up for days when we got excited about a new invention, or found a new hidden passageway at Hogwarts. There was one that led straight to the cellar of Honeyduke's in Hogsmeade. Mmm. I remember the week we found that one." he closed his tired eyes in reminiscing bliss, "Those chocolates and enchanted toffees. Merlin, it was a dream."

Ayla cracked a half-smile that she knew didn't quite reach her eyes.

They were still waiting on the prognosis for her father at St. Mungo's. Apart from a lone witch sleeping away in the corner, they had the cramped little waiting room all to themselves. They had been there for what had felt like ages. Earlier, a troupe of Healers had Floo-ed directly into her flat and carted her father off on a floating stretcher. Ayla had been given a calming draught upon entering the hospital, and had been sleeping uneasily off and on since their arrival.

"George?"

"Mm?"

"Who do you think did this to my dad? And why? He never hurt anyone, and no one should have been angry with him. He did nothing to deserve this."

George opened his eyes, taking another sip of his tea and staring into the cup. His eyebrows furrowed, and he thought for a few moments. He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before exhaling and saying finally,

"I don't know for certain. While you were sleeping I had a short chat with Fred. He wasn't here, don't worry. Just letting him know what was happening." he cleared his throat. "We've been avoiding telling you something, and it may or may not be related, but it's the best lead we can think of for what happened tonight."

She turned to look at him, feeling more awake.

"You know that disgusting man? The one who threatened you weeks ago in Diagon Alley?" he asked.

"I do. You think he was the one who did this? But how could he possibly have known where my father lives? Or even who I am?"

George cleared his throat again.

"Well, he's been hanging around the shop even more than usual since you started working there." He sounded angry, "I should've done more than just threaten him. We put wards up all over and at every entrance, and I've been keeping a close eye on him, but we should have done more to have him removed."

"But who is he?

"We..." he started. "We think he's a Death Eater. Well, know it actually. His name's Quincy Downing."

"You mean one of You-Know-Who's followers?"

He nodded, looking angrier by the second. He moved his hand to his temple, massaging it. "Damn, I'm such an idiot. This is becoming more and more pathetic as I think about it. I should have told you earlier and done something definitive about him."

"Wait. I still don't see what this has to do with me or my father."

He laughed humorlessly. "I don't know why, he didn't elaborate, but when I confronted Downing in the alley he seemed… very interested in you and the fact that you were working in our shop. I got the impression that he knew you from somewhere. Have you ever seen him before that day in the street?"

"I… I didn't really get a good look to be honest." she said, pulling her knees up in the chair and wrapping her arms tightly around them. "I tend to freak out a bit at things, if you've noticed. He did smell like really stale alcohol though. I remember that."

"Hmph, I suppose it doesn't matter too much right at this moment. We've got to make sure your dad's going to pull through before anything can happen. If it was Downing, it'll come out later, and we can figure out why he's so focused on you and deal with him then. Hopefully your dad will be able to tell us everything." George took a swig of tea before musing, "Death Eaters are a nasty lot. I don't know if you've had much experience with them. Downing's a drunk buffoon, but he shouldn't be underestimated. We never should have put out the ad for a new employee. It's so dangerous now for everyone, and the shop's probably going to have to close very soon anyway. It's likely our fault that you're in this mess. I can't really express how sorry I am if that's the case."

Ayla was confused. "Wait, what on earth are you talking about? How could this possibly be your fault? He's probably just a pathetic stalker and thought I would be an easy target."

"It's our fault, because," he started with a sigh. He was speaking lowly now, "though he may in fact believe you to be an easy target for tormenting, Fred and I are, well… pretty heavily involved in the resistance, and it's a well-known fact among almost everyone. I'm sorry, I know I told you earlier that we were Muggle sympathizers Ayla, but we should have told you just how deeply entrenched we are _before_ hiring you. We think Downing's been assigned by You-Know-Who to watch the shop. We were stupid to think that hiring more people would be safe. Now it's put you and your family in danger."

He looked incredibly remorseful and angry with himself.

"Heavily involved…" she repeated slowly. "What are you, spies?"

"Ha, not quite that heavily involved. Nobody would trust us with spying since it's so bleeding obvious which side we're on." he said, glancing in the direction of the snoring witch. "But, it's enough that we can't really speak about it, if that helps you understand. At least not here. And not now."

"Oh, I don't understand at all, but I'll let it go for now." she responded. "But, just so you know… I'm glad you hired me. It's been a wonderful job so far."

His eyes widened considerably, and he shook his head.

"No, no. We don't regret meeting you at all. I like you very much, we both do, don't think that's what I meant," he assured. "But if it's put you at risk, it's no one's fault but our own, and not worth it."

"No. If anyone's at fault here, it's me. I should have been home with Father."

"And what then?" He posed, not unkindly. "You couldn't have protected him against a group of Death Eaters, Aye. No one could have. You being at the Burrow tonight may have saved your life and his."

"His?" she asked, incredulous, not commenting about how it was no longer _tonight._

"Yeah, if we hadn't shown up after dinner, he would probably be dead. And if you had been with him, no one would have noticed something was wrong until the following morning."

They were silent for a few moments. She couldn't reply. He was right. It was the simple fact. The stress and lack of sleep must have been taking a toll on her mind. Her lack of powers would have rendered her completely helpless pitted against an armed wizard. This seemed to be a recurring theme in her life, she thought with a sigh. She needed a gun. Just one time; that's all it would take. She'd go Angelina Jolie all over those bastards and no one would ever doubt her again. The mental image made her chuckle despite herself.

"What's so funny?" asked George, cracking a half-grin. "Are you one of those _awful_ people who laughs at immensely inappropriate times?"

"No… I was just thinking about how everyone thinks I'm incapable of protecting myself, and what I could do about that."

"And what's that?"

She told him about her idea, as amused as she possibly could be given how horrid she felt.

"A gun?" he asked. "You mean those loud wands that Muggles use to kill each other?"

"Yeah, I guess that's a pretty good way to describe them. They aren't good for much else."

"And, who's Angelina Jolie…?"

After Ayla spent a good quarter of an hour trying and failing to get George to understand the concept of Angelina Jolie, the two sat in silence for what felt like a tremendously long time. George's head eventually lolled to the back of his chair as he fell asleep. Ayla was secretly relieved that he was staying with her. In her tiredness, even the guilt over it began to ebb. He was a true gentleman. _Gentlewizard?_ She also feared that she would easily crumple into a complete wreck if left alone. Somehow, his presence was managing to hold her together. She would have to come up with some way to thank him. Maybe a batch of caramel toffee. She was exhausted, and still worried beyond comprehension. What was taking the Healers so long? Maybe sleep would be a good idea to speed things along…

Without even thinking, she dropped her heavy, aching head onto George's surprisingly hard shoulder, and winced. "Ouch." she whimpered almost silently. At least he had taken off the rough leather jacket, she mused, before drifting to an uneasy doze.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Finally!

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><p>The food was flavorless against the dryness of her tongue. Still, she forced herself to chew. Mechanically, a rhythmic upward and downward motion. Spiced carrots. There were a couple of people huddled around, George maybe, right beside her, Fred sitting in the floor at her knees, and Mrs. Weasley next to her rubbing her back gently and holding out a plate of food. The witch was murmuring something soothing, but Ayla couldn't hear.<p>

A vegetable. The word reverberated in her head. _Vegetable._ Just like the carrots. Permanently written off to the incurable ward and awaiting death. Wasn't brain damage a Muggle problem? Wasn't there something they could do?

Her head pounded with the muddled questions and fatigue. What little sleep Ayla had managed on George's shoulder a few hours earlier at St. Mungo's had done nothing to ease her headache and exhaustion. It was the single longest day she could ever remember. It wasn't even the same day anymore. It was evening light that streamed through the pale yellow curtains of the Burrow's sitting room. She had been wearing the same filthy clothes for over 24 hours. And she wasn't sure how she got there.

Looking down with throbbing, tired eyes she saw that George was holding her hand against his leg. Detachedly, she noticed the whiteness of her clenched knuckles as they gripped his fingers. She dropped her gaze and saw Fred peering at her, the usual joke on his face erased and replaced with disquiet.

"She's still in shock. Poor dear… It's probably late enough. I'll go make up a sleeping draught." Mrs. Weasley's soft words cut through the void. "Take her on up to your room, boys. I'll bring the potion right in with a cup of tea. And I'll have Ginny send some of her pajamas." She patted Ayla's back sweetly, and left the room.

"Ayla." said Fred seriously after a moment, and she felt the light pressure of his hand on her knee. "You holding up, there?"

She blinked, forcing herself to snap out of the daze.

"Mm," A noise eventually escaped her in the affirmative, and she gave a slight nod. She couldn't have them thinking she was entirely helpless. They had done a lot of treating her like a pathetic damsel in the past day. Past months, actually. She resolved to start finding some inherent strength once she got some rest. Her father would want her to be strong.

"Mum's going to make you a sleeping potion." said George, as though assuming she hadn't heard his mother. Ayla wondered else she must have missed, and what her face must look like. She didn't want to think about it, and hoped she wouldn't cross paths with a mirror anytime soon.

"The great part about those draughts, besides knocking you out of course, is that you don't dream either. It's really quite nice." added Fred.

"Come on." coaxed George. "We'll take you up to our old room. It's empty now, so you can stay there."

Sniffing, Ayla furrowed her brows.

"What?" she asked confusedly, what they had been saying for the last minute finally registering.

"I'm staying here?"

The twins exchanged a look.

"Well… yeah, of course." said Fred, as if it were obvious.

"But, I- I have a flat. I should go back there and start cleaning. You've already done too much. Especially you, George, getting my dad to the hospital and waiting all night with me."

"That's out of the question." Fred said bluntly, crossing his densely freckled arms.

"You can't go back there right now," George agreed, shaking his head. "You need to rest before you do anything. We both do. Besides, Dad and some friends of ours have got the investigation underway at your flat already. And it's quite obviously not the safest place to be."

Well… At least that made sense. Somehow, it hadn't occurred to her that there would need to be an investigation. The shock of seeing her father in that state had pushed it from her mind. Before she could respond, Fred rose off the floor.

"It's nonnegotiable. Follow us, we'll show you where the room is."

Too exhausted to protest anymore, and feeling ill, Ayla sleepily followed the twins up the twisty wooden staircase she had been curious about the previous evening.

"Hm. This is the first time I've ever taken a bird to my room without planning to follow through." Fred joked weakly.

George thumped him on the shoulder, causing his brother to curse through his teeth, evidently trying to keep the sound from traveling to the kitchen and into his mother's ears. As a result it emerged sounding squeaky and strangled.

"Give it a rest, Fred." George said.

"Ugh. Sorry, Aye. The joking gets worse in uncomfortable situations. You know that, Georgie." Fred apologized quietly, massaging his shoulder.

"Yeah, and it usually gets you in trouble."

"I'm workin' on it, yeah? Give a bloke a break."

"Don't worry about it, Fred." Ayla half-smiled, but it turned quickly into a wince as her head responded with a hammering throb. Moving to massage her temple, Ayla noticed with surprise that George was still letting her clench his hand. Now halfway conscious that she was probably inhibiting his blood circulation, she released the embarrassing vice grip and threaded her arm through his elbow instead. She was unwilling to let go of him completely for fear of crumbling; physically and psychologically. As long as he was fine with it, she would take advantage of the anchor.

After a couple of steep flights and several tight turns, they reached a mangled door, riddled with burn marks and two aged metal signs bearing the names _Gred_ and _Forge_. Across the small landing was a much nicer door with a plaque inscribed _Percy_. She wondered who that was. She had never heard either of the twins mention a Percy in the several months she had worked for them at the shop.

Fred twisted the doorknob to the twins' childhood room, having to nudge it a little roughly before it gave way, stirring a small cloud of dust. The scent of cedar and smoky musk was overwhelming as they entered. Though the evening light streamed dimly through the small stained window, George illuminated an old lamp with a swift flourish of his wand. Two beds with rather thin, bare mattresses stood opposing each other on opposite walls of the bedroom. Besides an old armoire, several dusty candy wrappers, and a few empty boxes, the room was barren. Fred raised his wand and nonchalantly performed what Ayla thought was a complex-sounding incantation. White sheets, a pillow, and a large, fluffy pink blanket materialized out of thin air and floated softly down onto the nearest bed.

"That should do it." he declared. "Think you'll be warm enough with just the one? It can get drafty in here at night."

"It's fine." She said quietly, stifling a painful yawn. "Thanks, Fred."

"Not at all, love." Unexpectedly, he gave her a hug, forcing her to let go of George, who slid his hands into the pockets of his corduroys. Fred's arms were just as nice, she thought at she settled in, returning the gesture. They separated when a small knock reverberated from the open door frame. As Ayla peered around Fred she saw Ginny Weasley standing there with a folded set of what Ayla assumed were the pajamas, a sweet look of concern on her fair face.

"Hey, guys. Ayla, I'm so sorry to hear about your dad." she said genuinely, walking in. "That's so terrible. I can't imagine."

"It's alright." Ayla said, though it wasn't. "Thank you, Ginny. I appreciate you all doing this. I can't tell you how much."

"It's no problem at all. I'm sure Mum will have you as long as you need." assured Ginny, handing her the flannel bundle. "We all really like you, Ayla. It's nice to have another girl here, despite the awful circumstances. If you need anything at all, just let me know. I'm right up the stairs."

Ayla nodded. "I will."

Ginny stood somewhat awkwardly in the door for a moment.

"Well, good night." she finally said, turning on her heel.

"Good night."

"'Night, Ginny."

"See you, Gin."

"Well, we'll leave you to change then." said Fred looking at her anxiously and touching her shoulder. "See you in the morning. Hopefully we'll know something more by then. I'm probably going to pop down there now and see if I can help, actually."

"Our friends at the Auror office are really good at what they do. They'll find who did this, we have no reason to doubt. And whoever they are'll be headed straight for Azkaban." added George reassuringly.

Ayla gazed down at the pile of fabric in her arms, rubbing the fuzzy material between her fingers. Somehow she doubted that even having her father's attackers safely behind bars could ever make up for losing him. She had lost the single most important person in her life, and now he was almost in a state worse than death. She was too stunned still to feel a strong desire for vengeance. Her eyes began to prickle again, and she blinked in a feeble attempt to stop the tears from emerging.

"Oi, you're safe here. It's going to be okay." George promised. He began to push her mussed hair out of her face, but then quickly retracted his hand as though not sure it was appropriate. He curled his fingers into a fist and lowered his hand.

Biting her lip, Ayla nodded, meeting their eyes to assure them. The twins said their goodnights and started out the door, George reaching to pull it closed as he left.

Suddenly frightened at the prospect of being alone, for whatever short period of time, Ayla quickly reached out for George's arm, just catching the edge of his shirt sleeve before the door shut. It was a bolder move than she ever would have made under normal circumstances. But she wasn't thinking straight. _To hell with appropriate employer-employee relationships_, she thought. George had done so much for her today, but she had gotten used to his presence and wasn't keen on being without him tonight. Immediately, he stopped and turned back to the room. The door swung open again as Fred's footsteps disappeared down the stairs.

"What is it? Are you alright?" George asked, looking worried. He braced his hand against the doorframe, the top of which his head nearly touched. Ayla swallowed nervously, almost regretting her action. However, it was too late. He seemed uncomfortably close to her now, but she didn't want to back away.

"C-can you come back?" she finally whispered weakly, staring fixedly at the place where his neck met the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. The skin there was covered in a smattering of light freckles also. He exhaled, sounding somewhat relieved. She wondered what he was expecting to hear.

"Yeah." he breathed quietly after a moment. "I can. If you want."

"I just… don't want to be by myself."

"Of course." he said, "I understand."

She murmured a thanks, head still bowed. A few uncomfortable seconds passed.

"Well, I'm not going to stand here while you change... I mean, as lovely as that would surely be, it's probably not the best time. You'll be okay for that long?"

She jerked her head up and promptly felt all of the blood in her body rushing to her face in embarrassment.

"Oh, I-I didn't mean-" she said, shaking her head.

"Yes, I know." he teased lightly, grinning. "I'll go see if Mum's done with that potion. It shouldn't be much longer. It's an easy one. And, believe me, if I think a healing potion is easy, a bloody troll could do it. Anyway, I'll be back in just a few minutes, yeah? Or I could go get Ginny…"

"No, it's fine." Ayla said quickly. "I'll be okay for that long."

He eyed her carefully, as though trying to decide if she would self-destruct within that short period.

"I promise."

Convinced when she turned away from him and moved towards the bed, he stepped out of the room, pulling the door to behind him.

Alone for the first time in hours, Ayla attempted to breathe deeply; to little avail. Though she tried to hold them in, the tears began to course from her sore eyes. Dropping the sleep clothes onto the bed, she reached a fumbling hand to the buttons of her now blood-stained cardigan, and began to slowly undo them. The droplets traced warm rivulets down her cheeks and off her chin. She furiously wiped them away, unable to stand the feeling of wetness. Her mind would _not_ shut off; jumping impossibly fast between images of her father's unanimated face, the sheer amount of blood as they hurried to save his life, and then to the nonsensical idea of George enjoying the sight of her undressing. It did give her an odd feeling to know she was taking off her clothes in front of what could very possibly be his old bed in his old bedroom.

Somehow, she managed to get herself into the pajamas. Kicking the pile of dirty clothes to the side, Ayla climbed onto the bed atop the soft blanket, rolled to the side, and curled her knees into her chest. Her trembling, she knew, had nothing to do with being cold. The only comfort came from the scent of the mattress, which somehow smelled just like the back office in Weasley's Wizard Wheezes.

After a few agonizing minutes, a quiet knock came from the door.

"Come in." she said, her voice not sounding like her own.

The footsteps that entered were certainly George's, though Ayla didn't turn to look. They were too heavy to be Mrs. Weasley's. As they approached, she rolled onto her back. George stood there holding a steaming mug of tea and a glass of a milky-looking liquid that must have been the sleeping draught. The sight was already almost familiar to her. He had probably brought her at least three cups of tea and coffee at St. Mungo's earlier that day.

There seemed to be no need to exchange words. Perhaps it was familiar to him already, too. She sat up with effort and took the tea from him, his calloused fingertips brushing hers. The mattress shifted under his weight as he sat gingerly on its edge, causing her thigh to sink and settle against him. She could feel his gaze as she sipped the soothing liquid, and though embarrassed, was happy that he'd agreed to stay. There was something immensely comforting about his presence.

His mussed hair glistened fiery orange in the warm light from the lamp, and the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced. When she noticed that he was still wearing the same clothes too, the feeling of guilt grew a little in her gut.

"George…" she admonished groggily. "You've been wearing the same clothes for two days."

He shrugged. "It doesn't matter."

She gave him a look that revealed her shame.

"Yes, it does. I feel terrible. You don't really have to stay with me. You probably want to go back to your flat. I-"

"Don't worry about it." he interrupted. "Seriously. It's fine."

Ayla ducked her head, and took another gulp of tea, almost burning her mouth and throat.

"Here," he offered, holding out the potion. "It takes a minute to kick in."

Placing the tea on the bedside table, she took it from him. She eyed it distrustfully. She had only had unpleasant experiences with potions in the past; one involving a bad instance with overly-potent Pepperup that left her ears and tear ducts steaming for two days.

"Doesn't taste as disgusting as it looks, I promise." he smiled a little.

In fact, it wasn't bad at all. A bit chalky, maybe, but it slid down her throat easily and left her stomach feeling warm. Already, she felt a bit better. The headache began to dissipate as she set the glass next to the tea cup.

"How do people not become addicted to that?" she mused quietly.

"Oh, they do." he answered. "It's pretty common these days. People can't stop worrying long enough to get to sleep."

"It's pretty bad, isn't it?" she asked, wondering if he was one of those people that worried so much he couldn't sleep.

George nodded soberly.

"I don't want you to worry, though. Like I said, our Auror friends are the best. And we can protect you here at the Burrow. It's probably one of the safest places in Britain."

Too exhausted to ask why, and still largely unconcerned with her own safety, Ayla scooted forward and lowered herself onto the bed again. George reached for the comically pink blanket, and helped her pull it from under her legs. He smirked as he looked at it.

"This thing is ridiculous." he whispered, shaking his head. "I think Fred needs to practice that charm. Reminds me of a hideous suit our friend Hagrid used to wear. Except pink."

"It looks like a Muppet." she replied tiredly. "Animal."

"A what?"

"Never mind."

When she had effectively secured the blanket up to her neck, her eyes began to droop. A sense of peace was pervading from her toes to her head, and the bad thoughts receding.

"Well," George said. "I suppose I'll just be over on the other bed."

He touched her exposed forearm lightly; still unsure of what amount of personal touching was proper. She wanted to tell him it was alright, they were friends, but her mind was getting fuzzy. She hoped he couldn't feel the goosebumps that rose underneath his fingers.

"If you wake up, and… need anything," he said, "Please just throw something at me. Or, you know, hit me. I'm a heavy sleeper, but I promise I won't mind."

"Thanks, George." she managed to sigh.

He rose and plopped down onto the other bed. It creaked loudly under his weight as he made himself comfortable on the bare mattress. He finally settled with his arms above his head, resting them on the headboard. The slow exhalations only moments later revealed his own exhaustion. Ayla was shortly behind, sinking into the comforting warmth and darkness, grateful for his presence.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Well, all, here it is! I know you all loathe waiting for updates, so hopefully getting two up in the span of a couple weeks will make you hate me a little less. After this chapter I'm really planning to get into the good stuff (let's be honest, the fluff is the reason we all read fanfics!). I just really feel that all of that is more satisfying once you've built up the characters and established a believable relationship. I'm enjoying writing this again, and I'm feeling good about the plot, so I promise you won't have to wait so long for updates anymore! But I won't lie, the reviews really do help. Let me know what you think, and how you think the story could be improved. I really appreciate all of my reviewers! You all are great.

Enjoy!

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><p>Steam whistled from the rusted kettle after George tapped it with his wand. As he poured the water into the old French press, the steam dispersed, immediately enveloping the ambient air with one of his favorite aromas, delectable and rich. There was little he relished more than waking up from a long, much-needed sleep and enjoying a cup of strong black coffee. Though, he only ever drank it when he was at home. Something about his mother's old press he could never replicate in the flat he shared with Fred. It was fine though. He was perfectly okay with allowing it to be something he only enjoyed on occasion. That only made it better.<p>

After a minute or two he filled his cup to the brim and raised it to his lips. He rested his arm against the roughened countertop and gazed into the cheery, sunlit garden, where his mum was hunched over pulling weeds. _What a bloody night,_ he thought, shuddering as the hot liquid warmed his mouth and streamed down his throat. At least he didn't have to go into the shop, as it was Sunday. He felt vaguely guilty for missing work the entirety of Saturday, typically their busiest day of the week, to be with Ayla at St. Mungo's. Fred had insisted that it wasn't a problem. George was grateful, as he had felt obligated to stay with her. No. Not obligated. He chose to. Besides, she didn't seem to have anyone else.

It was disturbing, the amount of blood that had washed off of him as he finally bathed that morning. It felt nice to be in comfortable, semi-clean, clothes. Now he was garbed in an old Quidditch World Cup shirt and pants that he had, not very quietly, stolen from Ron's room while his brother slept. Since he and Fred almost never stayed at the Burrow anymore, all of George's own clothing had been moved to his flat. He glanced at his watch. _9:23_. Yep. Ron would never be awake in time to notice.

Grimly, his thoughts turned to the young woman likely still sleeping upstairs in his old bed. When he woke around an hour earlier, with a very sore neck thanks to Fred's awful mattress, Ayla was curled underneath the absurd pink blanket, her face free of expression. He was grateful for the dreamless side-effect of the potion. The last thing she needed was to relive everything in her sleep. Regardless, George knew it would still be a rude awakening.

Though they had given a valiant effort, he and Ayla were simply too late in finding her father. By the time they arrived, the healers said, the elderly wizard had already been lying there for several hours in his bludgeoned state. He had suffered multiple blows to the head, probably from being repeatedly smashed against the floor. Whoever committed this crime was trying to make a point. Even if that point was hate. It made George sick to think of it; even sicker to think of Ayla.

The healers had done everything they could, only managing to get Mr. Sower physically stabilized. Mentally, his brain had shut down. Watching him lying there on the hospital bed, unresponsive face slack and mutilated, George assumed he bore little resemblance to the man that Ayla knew and loved. She had seemed to retract into herself after that, not uttering a word for many hours.

Suddenly, a brief rapping came at the window, which was cracked only enough to allow in the morning breeze. A small grey owl hovered there, bearing a rolled piece of parchment on its leg. George set his coffee cup on the counter and waved his wand at the window to allow the owl entrance, thinking for a moment about how lazy he had become. It fluttered to the dining table, knocking over an empty vase in its path.

"Sorry, haven't got any money." he told it. He gave it a treat from the jar they kept on a shelf above the stove instead. It grudgingly accepted the meager offering as it extended its leg. George untied the scroll and recognized his brother's impatient scrawl as the owl opened its wings and exited.

_G-_

_Not much by way of new developments. Maddie and Nymph are on the case and think it's definitely DE related. Will let you know more tonight. Tell Ay we're doing everything we can. (But she probably should plan on staying with Mum and Dad for a while. Don't think going back to London would be a good idea.)_

_-F_

The vagueness was unsurprising. George folded the note and put it in his pocket, taking up his coffee again. Owls were getting intercepted all the more frequently, and they all had resorted to a mild code in their correspondences just as a precaution. _Definitely Death Eater related_. George clenched his hand around the handle of the cup, feeling like he could punch a hole through the wall with relatively little effort. He and Ayla would have to talk today. About everything. And he would need to tell her about Harry. Whether he liked it or not, she was involved in the war now, and there was no going back for her. The immense guilt came quickly bubbling back to the surface at the thought.

As he contemplated this fact and what it would mean for Ayla, he heard the sound of unsure footsteps descending the rickety and uneven staircase. He knew it wouldn't be one of his siblings; all of whom were so familiar with its peculiarities that they barreled down the stairs two or three at a time without having to pause. She must have woken.

"George?" Ayla's somewhat groggy voice inquired, confirming his suspicion, as she rounded the bend at the end of the banister. Her hair was damp and twisted into a messy knot at the back of her head, making it appear darker than it really was. She was wearing clothes that George recognized as Ginny's.

"Good morning." George said, still feeling somewhat unsure of how to conduct himself around her, and not liking that fact. It seemed ridiculous to say "good" morning after such a dreadful night. But, then again, maybe that was a perfect reason to say it. She only smiled sadly in response, her eyes still heavy-lidded.

"How did you sleep?" he asked, setting his nearly empty cup on the counter again. "Would you like some coffee?"

"I slept well enough. No dreaming, at least. And, yes, please." she replied quietly.

She slowly moved closer to him as he poured another cup from the still steaming press and handed it to her. Taking a seat at the table, Ayla reached for the sugar bowl, putting in a few more lumps than George could stand to think about without feeling ill. He sat next to her after refilling his own mug, a little further down the bench than he did on Friday evening, swinging his legs in with a practiced motion.

They sipped in silence for several moments, George still uncertain of what to say and frantically trying to come up with something. It was impossible. He was always so clever with witches, and had never had a shortage of conversation topics. Something about this was different. Maybe it was the fact that he felt responsible for what had happened. Or the fact that they had spent so many uncomfortable hours together over the past two days. He wasn't sure. Regardless, the mood had starkly changed from the last time they had sat at the table together.

"Thank you," she said abruptly, hands wrapped around the rim of the cup, which she stared at intently, "for staying last night." He noticed her bite down on her lower lip.

"Like I said, don't worry about it. I was happy to."

She nodded slightly, almost as though in a trance. He wondered if she was hearing him.

"Are you… alright?" he asked after a moment, concerned. "I mean, I don't know that I would be. I don't want you feeling as though you can't talk about it. Or, of course don't feel like you _have _to talk about it. Anything you need, it's fine, Ayla."

She stirred the sugar spoon slowly around her cup, and glanced up at the grandfather clock.

"I don't think I'm going to be alright for a while. But… I think I'll get there. It's hard to say now. It still doesn't seem like it even happened."

George nodded, staring at the many scars in the wood of the table.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"Oh," George said, remembering Fred's note, digging it from his pocket and holding it out to her. "Fred sent this. There haven't been any leads yet." Ayla's face became pained as she unfolded the parchment. "But, don't worry." he amended, "it's all in the early phases. Sometimes these things take time."

Her eyes scanned the words.

"I'm assuming that 'DE' means Death Eater. This says I should stay here with your Mum and Dad…" she said, confused. "George, I already feel as though I've encroached on your family."

"Ridiculous. You haven't _encroached_ on anyone. My brother and I both consider you a friend, and we feel compelled to protect you in whatever way we can. The family too."

"I think of you as a friend also, and I can't tell you how much that means to me, but…" she said, turning her body to face his on the bench, "I can leave the magical world again. Now that my father is… I can go back to my old flat in London, or to Muggle family, George, if it would be safer there."

"That's just the thing. We don't think it would be. In fact, it would probably only put you _and_ them in danger. We think it would be fine for you to visit your father at St. Mungo's as long as one of us goes with you, but other than that, I don't know that you should leave the Burrow or the shop. At least for a few days. Until we figure out what's going on." George rubbed his hands against his eyes, the feeling of guilt hitting him full-force. He was feeling more and more like he and Fred had inadvertently ruined this young woman's entire life. She raised her eyebrows slightly.

"Don't you think that's being a little bit dramatic?"

"No." he said eventually. "There's a reason for it. Ayla… I need to tell you everything that's going on. What I couldn't tell you in the hospital yesterday. Fred and I talked about it last night, and we think that you should probably know. It would almost be more difficult to keep it from you at this point."

"Oh." she replied, looking down again. "Alright then."

"Shall we go for a walk?" he asked, standing and offering her his hand.

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><p>The mid-morning air was crisp and cool, though the sun warmed her back, as George led her through the back door of the Burrow—to avoid his Mum for the time being, who was out working in the front garden—he had said. He was holding her hand again, pulling her rather, and Ayla wasn't sure what to make of it. Perhaps he thought she still looked rather pathetic. She supposed she did, being in someone else's clothes and without a scrap of makeup on her tired and blotchy face. She curled her fingers around his warm, calloused ones anyway. It seemed to help keep the image of her father's beaten face at bay. They made for a tree line that flanked the edge of the overgrown lawn, about 30 yards away from the house.<p>

George appeared nervous. As nervous as he could possibly be, anyway. She had never seen him so much as fidget. Now, however, his eyes were trained firmly on the ground, and his face looked troubled. She couldn't imagine what he could possibly have to say that was so grave. Probably more blaming himself for her father's assault. She could barely keep up with his long strides.

"George…" she started carefully.

He swallowed, slowing down just when they arrived in the shade of the canopy. Ayla could now see a rather wide trail meandering through the wood.

"Ayla," he started as they moved down the path, "you know my family's involved in the resistance."

"Yes, you told me yesterday." she replied as they walked along the worn path. "Well, at least I think it was yesterday… It's all getting jumbled."

"Mhm. And you know who Harry Potter is."

"Hm…"

Ayla racked her mind. She knew she had heard the name before. But where? _Aha_.

"Yes, I think so." She said. "He's that criminal they're all talking about. He's all over the Daily Prophet. Just a young kid, isn't he?"

George halted in his tracks and turned to look at her.

"You don't know." he stated, not unkindly. "You and your father never talked about this?"

"Well… I guess not." she ceded. "He didn't really like talking about the war. It's always scared him."

George dropped her hand and ran his fingers through his fiery hair, which seemed to glimmer in the light streaming down through the leaves. She crossed her arms to distract herself from the sudden coldness she felt in the absence of his hand.

"This is going to be harder than I thought. Damn, you really did get out of this world a long time ago" he said, massaging the back of his neck. "I can't believe you never even heard us at the shop… Surely Harry's come up in conversation before."

She smiled feebly, shrugging.

"I'm always in the back. Who is he?" she asked.

"Uh… perhapsyou would know him as the Boy Who Lived? The one who Voldemort is after."

Now that did ring a bell, a story she had once heard her parents discussing in hushed tones as she hid from view, relishing in the thrill of hearing a serious conversation not meant for a child's ears.

"You mean the baby that defeated him the first time? Years ago?"

George nodded, seeming relieved that she wasn't entirely uninformed.

"Yeah, that's him. Well, Harry happens to be Ron's best friend now, and a rather good one of everyone else in the family. Helped me and Fred loads getting _Wheezes_ started, actually. It's a bit more complicated with Ginny… but I don't particularly like to envision that."

"They're together?"

George cringed a bit. "Not really, sort of… I don't know anymore. But, yes, as far as old Voldy's concerned, Harry is the last thing standing between him and total dominion of the Wizarding World. The thing that makes this bad for you is that _my_ family has sworn to protect Harry and make sure that never happens. It's not only us. There are a few more. Still, this is, and is going to be, an enormous responsibility. It makes us exceedingly unpopular people. And very, very much in danger as this situation with the war gets worse. Everyone knows what side we're on. Everyone on You-Know-Who's side is going to be watching our every move, waiting for a chance at Harry. That's why we have the enchantments around the house, that's why we can't Floo in and out of here, and that's probably why the Death Eaters have targeted you. To taunt Fred and I and our booming business, and further torment the family."

"So," she mused, "Harry Potter isn't a criminal."

"Of course not. You can't believe that rubbish in the _Prophet_." he said, waving a dismissive hand. "You'll be meeting him soon actually, if you stick around. But that's an explanation for another time."

"So you think the Death Eaters nearly murdered my father, for no better reason than the fact that I_ know_ you?" Ayla continued, feeling sickened. She wrapped her arms around her middle.

George sank against the base of a large tree and dropped his face into his palms.

"You don't know… how much I _hate_ myself right at this moment, Ayla." he groaned into his knees. "We had absolutely _no_ business hiring anyone for the shop. I don't know what we were thinking. I suppose business was going well, and we had all these new ideas for expansion. It was selfish and stupid. I'm sorry."

Ayla stood in silence, looking around the verdant wood. She could see the house rocking in the breeze through a gap in the trees and hear it creaking. The sweet smell of honeysuckle in the air seemed to contradict the anguish of the conversation. George had always been the very firm and professional one, when he wasn't testing products on her that is, and it was strange seeing him so upset.

"So you all think they probably did it out of spite rather than for something my father may have done specifically." It was a statement rather than a question. Ayla now felt that she knew the error in this assertion, but she wanted to hear what he thought before revealing the most painful part of family's past. She wasn't looking forward to divulging her secret, but, now she realized it had to be done.

He raised his head, looking very disturbed.

"It's… it's what they do, Ayla." he explained softly, shaking his head. "It's unfathomable. Not human. It's not just aimed at us either; it's everyone that doesn't conform to what he wants. What You-Know-Who wants. Muggles, half-bloods, Muggle-_borns_. It's wrong. That's why we have to fight it."

She moved towards him and sat cross-legged at his feet, not sure why she wasn't crying. Too numb, she supposed.

"But I don't know what your father could have done." George continued. "My dad actually knew him a long time ago, and was telling us last night what an honest wizard he was then... If he had anything to do with the more radical resistance I'm sure my dad or Mad-Eye would have known about it."

Ayla dropped her hands to George's knotted shoe laces, and began to fiddle with them nervously as she thought. He watched her fingers, opening and closing the hand that now rested atop his knee.

"I don't think he did either. At least not recently. He's been frail for a long time. Who is Mad-Eye?"

"He's an Auror, and a member of the Order. The Order of the Phoenix." he murmured. "It's the group that we're all a part of. All of us that are sworn to protect Harry and fight against You-Know-Who."

"Is… is this all information you should be telling me?"

He shrugged. "You're involved now. You deserve to know why. I can't lie to you."

"And you trust me?"

"Of course I do."

Ayla felt a pleasant wave of something like satisfaction despite everything, but it was gone almost as soon as it came.

"But, obviously, you can't tell anyone. Especially about the Order." He looked at her, a slightly wary look in his eye.

"No need to worry." she said. "Lucky for you, you and Fred are my only friends in the Wizarding World besides Verity. So, there's really no one for me to tell."

"You seem surprisingly alright with all of this. You're not beating me to a pulp, snapping my wand, and demanding to know why I'm such an arse or anything. I'm not sure if I'm happy about that or if it worries me. You realize I do deserve that, right?"

"Sorry, I'm just taking it in." she breathed, tugging lightly on the shoestring of his worn-out left trainer. He looked so strange to her in the bright green t-shirt and muddy jeans. She sighed. "George, I don't blame you."

"And why in the bloody hell not?" he asked incredulously.

"Like I told you yesterday, I'm glad that I took the job at the shop. I had to be home with my father anyway. If not for the war, I never would have spent that time with him, as horrible as that sounds. I didn't get to see him much when I was in Muggle London. Didn't want to come back."

She gulped, furrowing her brows.

"Also… I feel there's something I should tell you as well," she started. "You mentioned a name last night. That man that's been watching the shop lately, the one that attacked me my first day."

George watched her intently, as she battled inwardly with herself. "Downing. He's the Death Eater that's probably behind this," he said.

"Yes." she exhaled, closing her eyes tightly and clenching the shoelace in her hand. "I wasn't positive at first, but it came to me while I was showering this morning." She opened her eyes quickly and blushed. "Sometimes that's the time of day when I think most clearly." she clarified, glancing at him. "Anyway, you said that he mentioned remembering me."

"Yes." George allowed, his fist getting tighter.

"Well, I think now I know from where, and I think he definitely had something to do with this." she braced herself for the painful memories to come flooding back. "A man named Downing used to work with my father at the Ministry many years ago. He was a rotten, dirty sort of fellow. Always hassling my mother whenever she came by to bring my father something or visit the office. I remember one occasion when I was young, going with my mum to the Ministry, he asked rather rudely why I hadn't shown any signs of magic yet, even though I was almost eleven. I suppose he had heard them discussing it, I don't know. My mum hurriedly rushed me out, but it was clear he didn't exactly approve of Squibs."

Ayla tucked her bangs behind her ear, meeting George's stare and immediately looking down again.

"At one point, a couple of years later, my father beat him out of a prestigious promotion. Then, I don't know, I guess Downing kind of flipped. He became a raging alcoholic, and was sacked after coming to work belligerently drunk on Firewhiskey. I don't know if he consciously wanted to exact revenge on my father, but he certainly did."

She shuddered before continuing.

"One day, a few weeks after my dad's promotion… I was out playing in our yard. At our house in the country. There would have been no one else around for miles. My mother was in the kitchen preparing dinner, and my father wasn't home from work yet. I could hear her singing—that's how I would know if I'd gone too far into the fields or woods, when I couldn't hear it. Anyway, suddenly I remember feeling this sense of dread in my stomach. Like I should go back inside. …But when I turned to head back, I was suddenly knocked to the ground. I think by a spell. Whatever it was, it paralyzed me. But soon, I felt the intense weight of him on top of my body, crushing me into the ground. I could smell the alcohol on his breath even though I couldn't move. Couldn't scream."

Ayla didn't dare look up at George now, her eyes tightly shut as she relived her worst memory.

"He whispered things at me as he alternately pummeled and… _groped_ me, called me a Mudblood, bitch, a worthless Squib. I don't know how long it went on, but at some point he gave me this with his wand," she pulled the collar of Ginny's shirt a few milimetres to the side, revealing the jagged scar on her shoulder, still not looking at George.

"Eventually my mum came running from the house, and cursed him off of me before it could go any further. I was freed. That's when I got a good look at his face and knew who it was. I don't know how she did it. She had never cursed anyone before to my knowledge. I suppose a mother's drive to protect her children is overriding in situations like that. I was never more in awe of her. Despite her best efforts, however, he somehow managed to Disapparate. And they could never find him, even with my dad scouring the countryside himself and opening up a case at the Auror office. It was like he had vanished into thin air. I was at St. Mungo's for a few days afterward, and was pretty bruised up for weeks. It's probably the single worst experience of my life, challenged only by my mother's death and what happened to my father on Friday."

Somewhat abruptly, her story ended. She clutched her head in her hands, eyes stinging, and reeling from the painful memory of the fear she had felt, being only eleven and subjected to that level of trauma and pain. Only after several seconds of silence did she risk a look at George, who was staring at her intently with deeply furrowed brows.

"Merlin." he said eventually. "Ayla, why didn't you tell us? If we had known that about Downing…_Bloody hell._"

She shook her head. "He looked… different. Older. Dirtier. I didn't even start to make the connection until this morning when the name you mentioned yesterday finally registered. If I had known it was him I wouldn't have let him stay outside the shop like that. I don't think he recognized me immediately either. I look a bit older now too."

"Do you think he was a Death Eater back then?" George asked.

"Probably." she replied. "I don't really know. He was a shady person."

"Incomprehensible_ bastard_." George seethed. "I should've killed him when I had the chance. And we should have told you about him instead of trying to handle it ourselves. This changes everything. Maybe he wasn't doing it because of our involvement with Harry."

"It could have been both." Ayla alleged, rubbing moisture from her eyes impatiently. "He really hated my father. Me as well, obviously. This could have simply been the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Exact his own revenge yet again, and also please his master."

George shook his head in disbelief, crossing his feet and wrapping his arms around his knees.

"So, is that the real reason you left?" he asked seriously, peering at her.

Ayla raised her head, taken slightly aback. Eventually she nodded.

"Yeah. Yeah, it had a lot to do with it," she said. "I stayed for a few months after, but we just never felt safe again. My parents constantly worried about me and what other people would think. Whenever I went out with my mum to Diagon Alley during the school term it was glaringly obvious that I was of Hogwarts age, and shouldn't be out shopping with my mother. I should have been at school. If one man could react with such hate, who knew what others would also be capable of. After my mother's accident we decided it was best that I move in with my Muggle family."

George ran his hand through his hair again, and leaned his head back against the tree.

"Damn. I had no idea."

"No. You can't blame yourself for this one, George. Don't you see why?" she implored. "This was something beyond you. I've long since moved past the fact that I don't have any magical powers. And I'm happy with myself. Genuinely. What happened to my father was an act of ignorance and hatred. Nothing you or I, Fred, _or_ my father did caused it to happen. And we're going to be okay. We'll find Downing, you and your Order will do what they have to for Harry Potter, and the war will end with good coming out on top. I know it."

Warmth flooded her veins as she spoke, and for the first time in a long time, Ayla felt some strength returning to her. Her voice had even gotten louder and more forceful, and she was looking George square in the eye, fully prepared to slap the guilt and pity right off of his face if need be.

"You're sure of that?" he asked, feebly.

"I am."

"Well, that makes at least one of us." he said. "I hope you're right. Come on. We need to go tell Mad-Eye. This could change his plan for the investigation."

When they stood and began walking back to the house, George took her hand into his after a moment's hesitation, holding it more lightly this time. No caresses; nothing out of turn. Perhaps he wasn't sure of what else he could do to comfort her. An embrace between them would have been awkward still, and he seemed to sense that Ayla had no desire for his pity. Despite this, she knew that they had surpassed the casual friendship of two amiable co-workers. Somewhere in the darkness and painful emotion still plaguing her, she felt a tiny flicker of happiness, and the comforting sense that she was no longer quite so alone.

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><p>Don't forget to review, lovelies! :)<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

"One, two… three," Ayla counted quietly to herself, looking around for the fourth mid-sized potato stipulated by the recipe in Mrs. Weasley's ancient book. Seeing it rolling to the edge of the countertop, she snatched it up. _A bit large,_ she thought, tossing it up slightly and feeling its size in her hand. She bit down on the inside of her cheek contemplatively.

"Dearie, there's no need to be so precise." Mrs. Weasley chipped somewhat impatiently from beside her, plucking the potato from Ayla's hand. "I can practically hear the baker in you"

"Sorry." Ayla apologized. "I'm so used to following recipes exactly. It's hard to shake the habit."

"Well, my dear, if there's one thing I know well, it's cooking. And things like the size of a potato are inconsequential in a stew. There's no need to make a potion out of it."

"Dad always said I would've been good at potions."

"I don't doubt it." The plump witch responded with a vehement shake of her head. "You have a talent, Miss Sower. You saw how long last week's pumpkin cake lasted. Gah, you'd think it was Halloween feast at Hogwarts. Forget that I had _slaved _over dinner for hours, no _need_ to eat their vegetables first…"

Ayla chuckled at Mrs. Weasley's complaining and exasperated noises, and commenced chopping the carrots.

It had been about two weeks since her first night at the Burrow, and Ayla had taken surprisingly well to living with the Weasleys. She took immense comfort in the fact that they were almost constantly entertaining company, from the occasional distant cousin to, more frequently, people who she suspected were members of the elusive Order of the Phoenix. A very pleasant girl by the name of Hermione Granger had also arrived to visit a few days before, with whom Ayla got on well with. They had read several of the same Muggle novels. The young witch was a good friend of Ron's, and the two spent so much time holed up in his bedroom that Ayla suspected they were together. _Ah, first love_, she thought with a fond smile, remembering her Lucas, a tall football player who had frequented her bakery in London once upon a time.

Ayla glanced out the window taking in the warm light of the sunset. George and Fred would surely be in soon from the shop. The twins had taken to eating dinner at the Burrow almost nightly now that Ayla was staying there. They wanted to make sure she wasn't "suffocated by boredom without them," as Fred had put it. After one more night of sleeping in the bed across from her, George had grudgingly gone back to staying at their flat above the shop. This was only after Ayla's many assurances that she would be alright alone, a conversation that had resulted in much discomfort and blushing from her.

She had only been back to the shop a couple of times since her father's attack, to bake as well as help the twins begin to pack merchandise into crates; they all wanted to be extra careful and prepare for any possible raids. She had also been able to go home to retrieve her clothing, and visit the hospital on several occasions. There had been no improvements in her father's condition, but Ayla was trying her best to build up her spirits herself, lest she sink into a pit of depression. Thankfully, despite Fred's worries, the Burrow and its many visitors offered a host of distractions, cooking with Mrs. Weasley being one of the most pleasurable. They had been doing things mostly the Muggle way, for Ayla's benefit and also because Molly was rather curious about it. As guilty and mopey as George often seemed to feel when he was around, Ayla doubted there was really a better place for her to be.

Another thing seemed to be looming in the minds of everyone which had nothing to do with Ayla. There was a plan to move Harry Potter soon, they had told her, leaving out a great many of the details. Everything needed to go as smoothly as possible up until then, and they wanted to take as little risk with her as possible. Unsure of what else she could do, she just sighed and tried to trust that they all knew what they were doing. It was hard to believe that moving a seventeen-year-old boy should require so much fuss. Still, the way they were all acting had managed put her on edge. It didn't help that Molly had an uncontrollable penchant for glancing worriedly at the window and fretting until Mr. Weasley arrived from the Ministry every night. Ayla suspected the witch would never be truly at ease until her entire family was seated at her table. She could only imagine how awful it would be to have to worry about such a large family.

Tonight, Molly seemed to be fretting even more than usual. She talked incessantly, and her hands trembled as she worked over the food. It was just the two of them and Ginny in the kitchen tonight.

"Where is everyone?" Ayla asked curiously. "Usually Ron and Hermione are downstairs by now, and I haven't even heard anyone since I returned from my walk in the woods this afternoon."

The knife Mrs. Weasley was holding suddenly clattered to the countertop. The shaking in her fingers was obvious now, and she picked up the knife again before replying weakly.

"Oh, they're around somewhere, I suppose…"

"_Mum._" Ginny's voice cut from the table where she was busy peeling boiled tomatoes. "You didn't tell her? That's completely ridiculous. We can't lie."

This took Ayla by surprise. She halted her chopping and looked up inquiringly. Mrs. Weasley swiped the back of her forearm across her forehead, looking very stressed. She sighed.

"You're right, Ginny. I'm sorry."

"W-what's going on…?" Ayla asked.

Molly gestured towards her daughter, apparently unable to articulate it herself.

"They've decided to move Harry tonight." Ginny stated. "There was a change in their plan, and it's going to involve more members of our family than we'd originally thought."

"Ohhh," Mrs. Weasley groaned, agonized. "I shouldn't've let those boys agree to help! They have to go and be so _gallant_. But they're too young! All of them just babies."

"Mum, they're all overage..."

"There is no _overage_ or_ underage _to a mother! They are always little ones. You'll understand that one day, Ginevra."

Ayla got the feeling Ginny was suppressing an eye roll out of concern for her mother's emotional state.

"Still, Mum, it was their decision. I'm worried too. But they're all capable, excellent wizards. There's no one else I'd trust to get Harry back safely. And no one knew about the plan. You-Know-Who isn't expecting it tonight."

"Right." Molly whispered, casting a sideways glance at the clock, which still labeled them all in _Mortal Peril_. "I hope so, dear. I hope so."

The way they were talking caused a ball of more serious anxiousness to suddenly form in Ayla's belly. Were they really in that much danger? George had made it sound grave, but until now she hadn't considered the fact that they might be taking such a serious risk. There was also a pang inside her at the fact that she wasn't included in this information. Another reminder that she was still an outsider, despite how hospitable the Weasley's had been. She wondered why not even George had mentioned anything to her.

"Sorry we didn't let you know, Ayla." Ginny piped, seeming to know where the other young woman's thoughts were. "We're all just a little bit frazzled and worried. And it all was finalized so quickly. I would've gone too if I'd been old enough."

This last statement did not garner a positive reaction from her mother.

"It's… it's alright." Ayla said, though still feeling out-of-the-loop and wondering what else they weren't telling her. She kneaded the fabric of her dress nervously in her hand. "So what exactly is the plan?" she asked.

Ginny explained that they were flying Harry out of his aunt and uncle's house, and the potion to make the decoys to throw off any possible pursuers. Fred and George would be on brooms. _Brooms_, Ayla thought with a shudder. If anything seemed scarier than Apparition, that surely was it.

"It's pretty much the only way they can do it now that Thicknesse's been Imperiused. They all should be back here no later than eight-thirty." Ginny explained pulling off her watch and setting it on the table. "If all goes well."

As they silently went back to preparing the food, there was a tension that was palpable. Ayla wasn't sure what to say. As the sky darkened Molly spent more and more time standing before the window and fidgeting.

_George could die?_ Ayla didn't think she could take another tragedy. Would losing George be a tragedy to her? She had only known him for a few months, but after all he had done for her… He had become the best friend she had in the Wizarding World. They had started going on walks every evening before dinner, and he had begun to tell her less superficial things about himself: such as how he was once Beater for the Gryffindor Quidditch team-the athleticism of which curiously excited her, the shenanigans he and Fred had gotten up to in their younger days, and even family issues and about less-than-satisfying past relationships. He had listened to her vent about her father's attack and Downing in her weaker moments and offered advice. And of course there was his willingness to stay with her as she slept. There had been no more hand-holding, which made her feel slightly gloomy for no good reason, but the two had managed to become fairly close.

She started to feel nauseated. The same way she did when thinking about her father. She wondered how high and fast the brooms flew. Fred was in danger too. And Ron, though she didn't know him as well. For the next half hour all she could see was the twins' handsome, mischievous faces and hear their laughter as though it had been imprinted permanently on her mind.

"It should be anytime now, Mum." Ginny eventually said, looking at her watch. "Ron and Tonks are first."

Ayla had met Tonks a few nights ago when she came to the Burrow for dinner and a hushed meeting with Mr. Weasley and her husband Mr. Lupin in the sitting room. Ayla's immediate impression was that she was a very pleasant witch, talkative, but sweet. She wondered how they would arrive.

Molly paced back and forth in her kitchen, wringing her apron in her hands. The savory smell of the stew was only serving to make Ayla more nauseous.

"Oh, where are they?" Mrs. Weasley breathed. Almost immediately after, there was a whooshing sound from the front yard, and she dove for the door, flinging it open and barreling into the yard. The shriek sent Ayla and Ginny hurrying after her.

Molly had thrown her arms up and put her hands on her head. She sobbed as she stared at a rusty old oilcan sitting in the yard. No bodies to be seen.

"They missed their Portkey." Ginny said quietly. "Damn."

Ayla was forced to stay silent and pretend as though she knew what that meant. It hardly seemed like the time for drawing further attention to her lack of knowledge about magic. The Portkey must have been some means of transportation from the houses they were all flying to. She had learned not to discount any notion as too ridiculous for the magical world.

A moment later there was another _whoosh_ and a beaten-up red sneaker materialized a few feet away from the oilcan.

"Ahhhh!" Mrs. Weasley cried in absolute agony.

Ginny appeared to be close to tears as well.

"Fred and Dad."

"Something's gone wrong!"

A few seconds after that, yet another whizzing noise sounded from the yard. This time there were people attached to it. Ayla gasped, and stepped backward, nearly collapsing against the door. One of them was obscenely large, a giant it seemed, the other a bespectacled boy that she immediately recognized from the pictures as Harry Potter. They odd pair had slammed onto the ground, and looked like they had been to hell and back.

Ginny and Molly both screamed and ran towards the two.

"Harry? You are the real Harry? What happened? Where are the others?" Mrs. Weasley shrieked desperately.

"What d'you mean? Isn't anyone else back?" Harry Potter demanded.

Mrs. Weasley blanched.

"The Death Eaters were waiting for us." He explained, "We were surrounded the moment we took off—they knew it was tonight—I don't know what happened to anyone else, four of them chased us, it was all we could do to get away, and then Voldemort caught up with us-."

Ayla clutched at her chest, feeling a panic unlike any she had ever felt. She watched Mrs. Weasley give Harry a hug.

"Haven't got any brandy have yeh, Molly?" the incredibly large man asked gruffly. "For medicinal purposes."

As Molly hurried back towards the house, Ayla saw the abject fear plastered all over the witch's face. She stepped into the yard and out of the way of the door. Her body was shaking uncontrollably. Ginny seemed to be explaining to Harry what had happened. "-that one," the red-headed girl pointed to the shoe, "should have been Dad and Fred's. They were supposed to be second. You and Hagrid were third and, if they made it, George and Lupin ought to be back in about a minute." She looked at her watch, which she had apparently put back on.

Ayla slumped against the shingled outside of the house, watching from the shadows as Mrs. Weasley returned with the brandy. The man was so big, that he downed the entire bottle in less than a second.

"Mum!" Ginny called suddenly, pointing into the yard at a blue light that seemed to be getting larger and larger.

Another two figures landed in the yard, swirling and collapsing into a heap. One was trying to support the other, who seemed unconscious.

_George._

Ayla couldn't breathe when she realized it was him. Dressed in clothes that were not his, George's entire face and neck were crimson with streaming blood. It looked as though half of his head had been bludgeoned. Ayla's legs nearly buckled beneath her. The Potter boy ran forward and helped the other man carry George's lifeless figure past her and into the house. Scrambling up the steps again, following the trail of blood, she watched them lay him on the sitting room couch. The scarlet liquid soaked the cushions.

And she ran up the stairs, retching and tripping as she went, trying to tune out the shouts she heard from below.

* * *

><p>A week later, Ayla heaved herself bitterly out of her cot in Ginny's tiny room. She had been trying to fall asleep for hours, only lingering in a state of dozing that was repeatedly interrupted by the noise in her mind. Attempting to be quiet, she tip-toed around Hermione's bed and pushed the door open, biting her lip nervously when it creaked. No one stirred, so she started down the stairs.<p>

When she passed the twins' bedroom door, behind which they were surely sleeping since everyone had been staying at The Burrow, she halted for a moment. She thought of her and George's exchange in that very spot a few weeks earlier. Self discontent filled her heart, and she wondered how George was faring. In the past days she had scarcely been able to look at him, immediately excusing herself whenever he entered a room. And she had heard enough "holey" puns to drive anyone insane. He certainly noticed her avoidance, and the thought made her stomach twist into uncomfortable knots. The sight of him bleeding out on the sofa, however… It had hurt her in a way that she hadn't thought possible. At that moment, she believed that she had surely lost him, and it was just too painful to deal with in the wake of her father's attack. They were all so fragile, and no one was safe.

She was behaving so immaturely, and now it seemed that she had gone too far to ever get her friendship with George back to the way it had been fast becoming. Maybe it was better that way. She couldn't handle getting close to anyone and then have them taken away yet again. Only a little while longer, she told herself. She would be out of the Burrow and back with her Muggle family as soon as the wedding was over. Mrs. Weasley was counting on her help, and she at least owed the witch that much for allowing her to stay so long. It was high time she left the Wizarding World for good. Her father was not going to improve. And neither was this stupid war.

Swallowing, she grabbed the rail and continued down the stairs for something to drink. Hopefully no one else was awake. Being disturbed was the last thing she wanted right now. Especially given the fact that she had forgotten to grab her dressing gown and was clad only in her rather short nightdress. She raked a hand through her knotted hair, and moved into the kitchen. She reached for the rusted kettle to place on the burner. Tea sounded lovely right now.

"Hm. You've been hiding out, haven't you?" A deep, sardonic voice sent her heart into her throat. She jumped, startled at the unexpected sound. The kettle slipped through her hand and clanked loudly onto the stovetop, sloshing water from the spout.

"God." Ayla said, clutching her heart and turning to see George leaning against the doorframe of the sitting room, holding a half-empty bottle of butterbeer in his hand. His head was still wrapped in the ridiculous-looking bandage he had been sporting all week, and he peered at her unhappily. He looked tired, and was still dressed in his day clothes even though it was around three in the morning.

"George." She stated, her voice cracking. She looked down at the counter, drumming her fingers on the edge. "You scared me."

"Sorry." He said, not sounding particularly sincere. He took a swig from the bottle. "Couldn't sleep?"

"No." She replied, turning back to the stove and turning it on. He was so angry with her. She could feel his eyes boring into the back of her neck. The thought made her legs quake. She felt naked. Oh, _why,_ hadn't she gotten her dressing gown? Now that he was here, and there was very certainly no way out, she had no idea what to say. She contemplated forgetting the tea and dashing by him up the stairs. The chances of her making it without tripping and falling into a graceless heap at his feet were slim to none.

* * *

><p>George stared broodingly at Ayla's back, noticing the amount of pale skin exposed by the thin straps of her cream-colored nightdress. He could see more of her shapely legs than he ever had before. She clearly hadn't planned on running into anyone this late. After a few moments of silence, she began repeatedly glancing apprehensively at him over her shoulder, the corner of her lower lip secured in her teeth.<p>

Normally he would have been somewhat aroused by this, a beautiful girl in front of him barely clothed, but now only anger swelled within him. He was at a complete loss. She had all but abandoned him after he had been cursed. It was impossible not to notice. He had thought they were becoming good friends, perhaps more than, but now she seemed to want nothing to do with him. Did she find him deformed? It seemed out of character for her to cease speaking to him for such a petty reason. Women confused him to no end.

"George." She muttered finally. "What do you want?"

He chuckled once humorlessly, crossing his bare feet and toeing the floor.

"I'm trying to work out why you're being such a hag."

Her head ducked, and he felt the smallest twang of guilt. Still, he forged on, driven by anger and annoyance.

"I thought we were friends. At the very least amiable colleagues, though that seems a bit light for how it's been up until lately." He added. "What's going on, Ayla? Why are you avoiding me?"

Her breathing seemed suddenly labored. She remained turned away from him, apparently too uncomfortable to look him in the face.

"Can we please not, George? I can't-" She said weakly.

"No." He said vehemently, making her cringe. _Such a Hufflepuff,_ he thought.

"Ayla…" he added more quietly. "Seriously, you've got to develop a backbone. Merlin. Look at me. I'm not going to talk to the back of your head."

Slowly, she turned around, crossing her arms tightly over her chest. She trained her gaze fixedly at the floor, annoying him further. Though he was sure it was unintentional, it made her look like a petulant child.

"Well?" He insisted, impatiently. "What is it? Does it disgust you? You can't bear to even look at me now?"

Ayla closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She shook her head. "No. No, George… I just. I can't… _handle_ losing someone else right now."

"What in the bloody hell are you talking about?"

"I can't be your friend. I have to leave." Her quiet voice trembled.

George stared at her, completely taken aback. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but that certainly wasn't it. He rolled his tongue slowly around his mouth and furrowed his brows darkly, considering her response with angry but familiar guilt.

"I don't want to tell you you can't leave, but… you can't. It's too dangerous. You know we agreed to protect you during the investigation. And you're a target now. How… how does my not having an ear make you incapable of being my friend? I'm failing to see your logic. Why is _this_ the catalyst for you wanting to go?"

"I… I'm sorry, George." She sounded resigned to her decision.

"You've completely shoved me to the curb, Aye! I hate to sound like a whining third year, but… I almost _died_."

"I know you almost died!" She shrieked suddenly. Surprised at herself, she brought her hands up to her forehead. George's eyes widened and she continued. "That's why! That's exactly why. I… I can't_ lose_ someone else. Seeing you there, blood gushing from your head… I really thought you were going to die. I couldn't handle it. And that's what I see _every_ time I look at you, George." She was crying now, but making an effort to be quiet and not wake the house. "I see you dead. In a pool of blood on that couch. When I try to go to bed at night and I close my eyes, it's all I can think about. That's why I can't sleep."

This effectively silenced him. He lowered the butterbeer to his side.

"It's like seeing my father lying beaten again." She added quietly into her hand, looking sideways, still anywhere but at him. "Everyone I care about, I lose."

"But I'm still here, Ayla." he said after a moment, almost impatiently, gesturing to himself and taking a step forward. He placed his bottle on the dining table. He wanted to tell her she was being ridiculous, to make her see that she was overreacting. "You haven't lost me. I'm not _going_ anywhere."

She closed her eyes. Whimpering noises escaped from her mouth as she tried to stifle her crying. Uncomfortable and not wanting to stand there staring at her any longer, George sighed and stepped closer to her. Finally, when he was right at her toes, she looked at him, trembling with his abrupt proximity.

"Listen, don't cry. Please?" He implored. "I didn't mean to upset you. Not this much, anyway."

Slowly, he reached out, allowing his curled fingers to graze the bare flesh of her shoulders and upper arms. He could feel the gooseflesh appear on her skin and hear her short breaths. This close, he could see the shine of her jagged scar against the smooth skin of her collarbone: drawing his eye unavoidably to the visible swell of her breasts. Feeling an unexpected rush of protectiveness for the girl, his anger and frustration began to ebb. His brow tensed. He swallowed and opened his arms a bit, nervous. "Can I?"

Her only consent was in not pushing him away, though he realized he had effectively pinned her against the edge of the countertop. At first she kept her arms firmly across her chest, but eventually relaxed into his uncertain embrace, hiccoughing. After a moment, her hands reached timidly underneath his arms and clasped the back of his shirt. Her forehead rested against his shoulder.

Her hair smelled sweet, the top of her head just underneath his nose. Like the flowers in the back garden. And it was soft. He had never been so purposely close to her, and feeling her smallness in his arms was immensely satisfying.

"I'm fine." He assured again. "Really. I'll never get my ear back, but who bloody cares? It's a fucking ear."

* * *

><p>George was murmuring things to her. Things that were somehow comforting despite the presence of colorful curse words. She wasn't sure why or how they had gotten into this position after days of ignoring each other. She didn't deserve how sweet he was being. Here he was, trying to comfort her when <em>he<em> was the one who'd nearly died. She felt wretched as she tuned in to his voice.

"You can't just write people off, Ayla. Not now when we all need each other more than ever," he said, one arm around her back with a hand holding her shoulder, and the other settling on her back at her waist. His thumbs rubbed gently back and forth, making her shudder. The pressure and heat of his hand permeated the thin fabric of her gown as though she wasn't wearing anything at all. And she couldn't even think about the fact that she wasn't wearing a bra. It seemed highly inappropriate. But also felt so incredibly delicious that she had no desire for him to ever move away. In fact, she wished he would hold her tighter, and press her harder up against the counter. She knew his arms were strong. And now she was wrapped up in them, the center of his focus. She thought of her unexpected delight seeing them flex whenever he lifted heavy boxes at the shop. Unlike Fred, sometimes he seemed to ignore the fact that he could do things with magic. The way he rolled his sleeves slightly past his elbows and impatiently loosened his bow tie first; it did strange things to her belly. She wondered if he did it on purpose, because he knew what it did to her. If he noticed her looking, he would wink suggestively, causing her to blush and smile timidly as she averted her gaze.

So easily, he was winning her over. If only he weren't such an attractive man.

"I-I'm sorry." She choked out, gaining marginal control of her tears. His patterned linen shirt was dampening, and she felt embarrassed. She pulled herself more firmly to his sturdy frame and turned her face into the warmth of his neck as if to hide, his comforting and familiar scent intoxicating her. His grip tightened with hers, sending a tremor down her spine and to her toes.

"You're right. I've been irrational. I'm so sorry for avoiding you." She breathed, giving in.

"Don't worry. It'll be alright. I'm not going to die, I promise. I'll just look a little funny from now on. It'll be good for business. Kind of annoying though. We'll have to modify the storefront when we get back." He said. For once, she couldn't tell if he was joking or not. She appreciated the "we" however.

She gave a breathy laugh and hiccoughed again, bringing a hand up to wipe her eyes. At the motion, George pulled back a bit to look at her face, forcing her to loosen her grip on him. He reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a tartan handkerchief. She kept one hand on his shoulder as she took it, sighing.

"All I ever do is cry, isn't it?"

He shook his head.

"Nah. If you did, I don't know that I'd have the energy to be your friend. In your defense, you haven't had the best of weeks here recently. Damn, I shouldn't've called you a hag. But… you really should stop. You're kind of killing me here. I'm not much good with women when they cry. This is Fred's area of expertise. He makes girls cry a lot, you see."

She laughed breathlessly. "Such a heartbreaker."

"A complete cad." He affirmed solemnly.

George was doing just fine at being comforting, she thought to herself, noting how he had yet to take his other hand away from her lower back. Neither of them seemed entirely willing to move, in fact.

"So… you're not going to leave, are you?" He asked, not hiding his concern very well.

At this point, Ayla's slight smile faltered and she raised a hand cautiously to the bandage covering George's missing ear. Her fingers stopped just short of the fabric and settled against his neck.

"I don't know."

His expression darkened, and he glanced downward.

"Would you like to see it?" He asked seriously after a weighty pause. "It might help you come to terms with this whole thing. Facing fear, you know."

After hesitating, Ayla felt her head nod slightly. "Maybe."

At that moment, the teakettle began to whistle loudly, enough to startle the two of them apart. George grinned sheepishly and reached onto the shelf to retrieve two cups for them.

"Go into the sitting room if you'd like." He said. "I'll bring the tea. You want fifteen lumps of sugar and half of the cup filled with cream, right?"

"You know me so well."

* * *

><p>The fire had been lit; she noticed when she entered the room, still aware of her state of relative undress and gripping his handkerchief. Though the flames burned low, it cast long shadows of her legs against the floor and opposite wall. A large, leather-bound book entitled <em>Advanced Transfiguration vol. IV.<em> lay open and upside down on the wooden floor. It must have been what George had been doing up so late. She shivered as she sat gingerly in the middle of the couch, fingering the seam in the cushion. It was the one spot she had avoided religiously since the night of the curse.

_It's okay, just steady your breathing. No more blood. There was no more blood. _And George was here. Alive and well. Coming to see her right now. Surely if he thought it was safe enough to remove his bandage, then it was no big deal. Oh, what was she getting herself into? How would seeing it make it any better?

Her breathing hitched again when George joined her, sinking the cushion. Noticing her shivering, he reached back and draped the couch's soft blanket over her shoulders. She was grateful, finally feeling somewhat clothed. They drank tea in silence for a few minutes, thighs only centimeters apart.

"You're being uncharacteristically quiet." She observed, watching the burning coals in the Weasleys' gigantic stone fireplace.

He shifted beside her, tugging at the knee of his trousers with his free hand.

"Just don't know where to start, I guess."

Ayla took a long sip of tea, watching the cream swirl when she lowered it from her lips. It was as if they were on a date or something, both nervous about initiating a first kiss. But instead of a kiss they were going to compare disgusting scars. After an indeterminable amount of time, she was jerked from a reverie when George closed his fingers around the rim of her teacup and gently removed it from her hands. He placed both mugs on the floor, and turned his body towards her.

He exhaled, "Alright."

Slowly, he reached up to untie his bandage. Ayla pulled one knee up onto the couch as she faced him, foot hanging off of the edge, as if having something between them would shield her somewhat. She held her breath.

When she saw it, however, the expected feeling of repulsion never came. George turned his head to give her a view, himself staring into the dimming fire. Curiously, as though she couldn't control her movement, she raised her hand and softly pushed back a stray curl of his very red hair.

It was nothing but a dark opening. Still healing at the edges, but only a shadowy hole. There was no gaping, bloody wound. Somehow she had assumed that the curse would have taken out a part of his skull, given the amount of blood that night.

She could see him glancing sideways at her, trying to gauge her reaction.

"It's… It's not so bad." She concluded quietly, pushing her fingers through his hair and smoothing it away from where his ear used to be. _Poor thing, _she thought, biting her lip_. _"Does it hurt?"

George put on a false grimace "Yeah, a bit." He said with a grizzled timbre; like a man trying to impress and gain the affection of a worried lady. She smiled. He seemed to cheer at her reaction, giving her a crooked grin and a small wink.

"No, I can't really feel it anymore." He said more sincerely, turning his face towards her again. Her hand fell to her lap. "I mean, I try to avoid poking at it or anything. But now it's fine."

"I'm glad you're okay." She murmured, looking down and feeling deplorable.

"No more glad than I am, trust me. At least it wasn't my favorite ear."

"I feel horribly guilty." She said, watching him wrap the cloth around his head again and fumbling to retie it. "Here…" she added softly, reaching to help him. He tilted his head to give her better access before responding to her statement.

"For what? My ear being cursed off? I appreciate the sentiment, but it had nothing to do with you."

She shook her head, finishing the knot. "You know what I mean, George."

Warmth enveloped her hand as he clapped his own on top of it and squeezed her fingers.

"No harm done." He assured. "But we have a more important matter at hand here."

"What?" Ayla asked suspiciously.

"Why do you think it affected you so much that I was nearly killed?"

Ayla's mouth opened and closed.

"You're my friend-"

"As I see it," he interjected rather impishly, paying no attention to her, "you care about me quite a bit. You even said it, 'everyone I care about-,' you know? Yeah, you handled it bloody terribly, but I still have an undeniable pull over you. I can only conclude that you're hopelessly in love with me."

Ayla felt her face flush.

"Just because I said I cared? That's your reasoning?"

"And, really, who could blame you?" He continued, ignoring her again, "I'm the full package. I've even got battle scars now. I saw the way you ogled it just now."

"Stop it, please." She said dryly. This was hardly the time for him to be taking the mickey out of her.

He smiled widely, stroking her hand with his thumb, making her shudder visibly.

"You know your pulse is racing, don't you?"

"Yes, George, I know." Her face felt hot.

He laughed, a real laugh that she hadn't heard in a while. He looked incredibly handsome as his head rolled onto the back of the sofa in his mirth. She couldn't help but smile as well, realizing how much she had missed it and happy that they were on good terms again. This was the way it was supposed to be. She had been a complete idiot.

"What about _you_?" She asked accusingly after a moment of contented silence. "You're the one who panicked at the thought of my leaving."

"Panic is a strong word, love."

"No it isn't! You were really worried. I could see it in your eyes."

"Think what you like, Ayla." He said. "I would've been fine. A bit disappointed for a while, but fine."

She shook her head, unable to erase her grin. She rested her chin on her free hand and looked pointedly at their hands.

"Well, you haven't moved your hand yet…"

"That has absolutely nothing to do with anything. Maybe it's just comfortable there."

"_Mmm_-hm."

"All due respect here, but there is again a flaw in your logic. You have not moved your hand either, see? And you're trying to accuse _me_."

"I do see. Maybe it's just comfortable there." She whispered back, feeling shy.

"All the proof I need…" he teased quietly.

The contented silence returned, Ayla feeling happier than she would have thought possible only an hour ago. She wanted to thank him again for putting up with her and still being her friend after her being such a twat, but the time for that had passed. There was no reason to ruin the moment with seriousness. She was now overwhelmed with her desire for him to kiss her, but they had been through enough of an emotional rollercoaster tonight. Instead, as if controlled by some being that was not herself, she slowly flipped her hand and unfurled her digits so their palms were pressed together. Her heart stuttered in her chest as he allowed his fingers to fill the spaces between her own. He didn't retort with a joke, or even a smug expression, and she was grateful. Instead, his face was serious in the flickering light. She wracked her mind. She had nothing sexy to say.

"So…Advanced Transfiguration?"

"It's just some light reading."

"Volume IV?"

"It's a good series."

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><p>AN: Thanks for being patient with me! And thanks for reading. Why, look how easy it is to review now... Fancy.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Hooray! What you've all been waiting over a year for: a little romance! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I liked writing it. It's kind of a new thing for me, so I hope you like it. Know that your feedback is a huge motivator in update speed, so let me know what you think!

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><p>"Bloody, fucking <em>Merlin.<em>"

George looked up questioningly from the box he was packing full of Puking Pastilles.

"What's the matter, Freddie?"

"I can't get this bleeding '17' to look right on this lantern. It keeps melting off. Get over here and do it."

"Fine, fine, but you've got to finish this box." George said, stepping around the open crates strewn on the floor of the back office to where his twin was working. "Are these your decorations for Harry's party tonight?"

"Yeah, why? Think they're kitschy?" Fred asked uncertainly, rubbing the back of his neck.

"_Kitschy?_"

"It means, like, cheesy."

"I know what it means. Just didn't seem like a word you'd use." George said, peering at the purple lanterns his brother had been working on.

His brother waved a dismissive hand and ambled over to finish filling the box with Pastilles. The twins were currently packing up Owl Orders. They had been running very far behind after the accident, since Fred had been the only one working; which was always a recipe for disorganization and chaos. Even though they had decided to close the shop from the street for now, business was still incredibly good, and neither of them had any intention of shutting down completely.

"They look fine. When I think of Harry, I think of purple." George stated somewhat sardonically, commenting on the lanterns.

"Me too!" His brother exclaimed, not catching it. "I knew it was the right choice."

George picked one up and aimed his wand at it, repairing the melting 17 with ease. As he traced out the numbers on the rest of the lanterns, he couldn't help but glance in the direction of Ayla's kitchen. The young woman had the sleeves of her white linen dress pushed up to her elbows, as she stood waiting on the oven. Her lower arms were, as usual, entirely covered with flour, and there were traces of it in her pulled-back hair and on her face. She looked a bit worn out still, the two of them having stayed up talking until dawn the night before. He wondered how much of her expression was the result of stress as well.

He felt the corner of his mouth tugging upwards into a slight smile despite the nagging twinge of worry. It was the first time in a very long time that he had spent the night with a girl _just_ talking. And for some reason it was more meaningful to him than any other experience he'd had. They had even held hands. Almost. In a hands-pressed-together kind of way. Still, it had felt a bit less platonic than holding hands for Apparating, or than it did when he was pulling her along to somewhere.

He couldn't believe how good it felt to have Ayla on his side again, and to know that she wasn't going to leave. The relief was now even beginning to overshadow the guilt he also felt. It wouldn't be safe for her out there, and he couldn't ignore that he felt protective. She was far too innocent and trusting. Not to mention that her ability to protect herself in the face of a witch or wizard was obviously very lacking. His family, or at the very least he and Fred, would be able to watch out for her as long as needed.

Some things had taken a turn for the worse, however. The investigation into Mr. Sower's attack, for one thing. Mad-Eye's death had put the efforts on halt for what would be an indeterminable amount of time. The loss had been a tough one for the Order, and the other members were being stretched so thin there was simply no one to work the case. They trusted no one beyond their own circle nowadays. Ayla wasn't happy about it, but she appeared to be handling it well. These times just weren't normal. George and Fred had at least been able to ferry her back and forth to St. Mungo's a few times. It was a sad thing to watch, her talking to her father's unresponsive frame as though he could hear her. George had a feeling that she believed he could.

And Harry, Ron, and Hermione were driving his parents, his Mum at least, insane with worry. They were dropping out of school their final year and preparing to head out on some obscure business for Dumbledore. George didn't dare to question it, particularly the bit about dropping out of school, but he had to admit he was concerned. He trusted Harry, but it did seem a bit odd to place a matter of what he assumed was great importance in the hands of a group of seventeen year olds. The fact that it was a secret was probably what bugged him most, but he resolved to keep his mouth shut. He knew neither the facts nor the reasoning. He only wished there was something he and Fred could do to help. It was doubtful that they would ever stop feeling indebted to Harry.

Finishing the last lantern, George raised a hand to rake through his hair, which he could do now that he didn't have to wear that stupid bandage. His mum had reluctantly given him the okay to remove it that morning. He still hadn't gotten used to the feeling of not having an ear. He felt asymmetrical and off-balance, like one side of his head was heavier than the other.

"Fred?" He asked, suddenly curious. "Do you think I hold my head differently now?"

"What?"

"Without the ear."

"Hmm," His brother tilted his head and squinted at him, fingering his chin, "Impossible to say."

"Why?"

"Because you're aware of the fact that I'm looking at you. There's no way you could possibly be holding your head normally right now. I'll have to watch you when you aren't thinking about it."

"Eerie…" George said.

"Dare I say it, it's _wholly_ disconcerting."

"Tell me about it. I'm worried my head is lopsided now." He added more seriously.

"Eh, at least you've got the pity card. The one tool I don't have with the birds."

"Ah, damn." he replied with a sigh. "I never wanted to resort to the pity card. Surely I've got some other redeeming qualities."

"Well, you look just like me from the right side. That's certainly got to help you out."

"Looks like I'm going to have to grow my hair out long again. Think Mum'll let it slide? For me, you know?"

Fred considered it. "Probably. You've gone back to being 'Baby Georgie,' haven't you?"

"Wonder how long it'll last."

"I'd say you've got at least three more months of it. Maybe four if you stretch it."

As George contemplated whether or not that would give his hair enough time to grow out, Ayla moseyed over from the kitchen, balancing a massive tray of miniature cakes on one hand.

"Did I hear another ear pun?" She asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Indeed you did _hear_ one. Two, in fact. I don't know if you noticed my novel use of the word _wholly_." Fred said, throwing an arm around her shoulders.

"Ahh, I missed that one. Shame. These are ready for the enchantments." She said. Fred snatched one from the tray and shoved the whole thing into his mouth. "Hey! There's a limited amount of those." She admonished, as he let go of her shoulders and darted around the boxes littering the floor, sniggering.

"You're _always _doing that, Fred. I'm going to have to start making an extra." She complained half-seriously after him.

"Owner's privilege!" Came the muffled reply.

"It's alright, set them here." George said to her, pointing to a messy desk.

"I'm so happy you two're talking again!" Fred sang through his mouthful of cake, tripping and hopping before disappearing through the door to the front of the shop. George shoved some parchments to the side to make room on the desk, sending them fluttering to the floor.

"You two have got to come up with a better system of organization for this office." Ayla said, shaking her head solemnly.

"Working on it." He replied.

"That's what you said last month."

George just grinned.

"Are you about ready to go back to the Burrow?" he asked. "Big party tonight."

"Urgh, yeah. Just got to fill a couple more orders, and clean the kitchen. Shouldn't take long."

"Careful not to let the excitement overwhelm you."

"Well, there's the Apparating, but also, to tell the truth, I rather hate parties." She groaned, grimacing.

"Ha, why?"

"They just exhaust me. So many… people."

George laughed. "You're so strange, Ayla."

"Oh, thanks."

"You do realize there is a wedding tomorrow, right? One that includes a reception? One with many, many droves of other people..."

"I imagine there will be a bit more booze there, however."

"I imagine you would be correct," he acceded, thinking she looked like the last person to be interested in copious amounts of alcohol.

"Perfect. I rather love champagne." She said through a burgeoning yawn.

Ayla turned and began to walk away, but George had other ideas. She needed to lighten up. On a whim, he reached for her and grabbed the corner of her arm, pulling her to him. She squeaked, and suddenly she was flush against him with her hands on his chest. So close he couldn't see her face. Her halting breath was hot against his neck, and he could tell he had suddenly made her extremely nervous. It was almost cruel. He smirked as he gripped her shoulders. With a quick glance to make sure his brother was nowhere in sight, he moved his mouth to her ear.

"It's alright. There won't be too many more people there tonight than usual." He murmured in his deepest, most seductive voice. "But… if you should find yourself suffering, just give me a signal and I'll get you out of there. Same goes for the wedding."

Ayla seemed too shocked to speak. He abruptly released her and stepped back, snatching up a new Owl Order and quill, perusing it as though nothing had happened.

"Well, go on." He ordered in a professional tone, waving her off, trying desperately to keep from laughing at her expression."You said you had orders to fill."

Her mouth gaped adorably for a few seconds before she turned shakily on her heel and went back towards the kitchen, her Muggle dress swishing around her knees. George allowed himself a stifled laugh as soon as she was out of direct earshot. As he marked on the parchment, he couldn't help but wonder if she would take him up on his offer. Or what exactly his offer entailed. Perhaps it was high time to utilize some of his Weasley charm.

_Damn, he wanted to kiss her._

* * *

><p>Up until that evening, Ayla had been unable to quell the butterflies in her belly after what George had done in the shop that afternoon. <em>Give me a signal and I'll get you out of there? <em>What the hell did that mean? Just twenty-four hours ago they hadn't even been on speaking terms with the other, and now there he was, shamelessly flirting with her. She couldn't ignore the sexual undertone of it either. Where would he take her? And to do _what_? Suddenly, a vision of George with his arms around her and snogging her senseless in a darkened room exploded into her mind. What _would _those lips feel like?

Feeling her face warming, she turned back to the Wizard's Chess game she and Harry were lazily watching Ron and Hermione play from the couch. It was nearly time for Harry's birthday party, and they were all whiling away the hour. She wasn't sure where the twins had gotten off to. Possibly off showing the Delacours around the village. So many guests were already arriving for the wedding the next day, Ayla had no idea how everyone was going to fit into the house. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had already given up their bed for Fleur's parents, and Ginny's room was full of camp-beds for the bridesmaids in addition to Hermione and Ayla. It was packed, to say the least.

As she observed Ron explaining some particular strategy to Hermione, Ayla wondered if she _wanted_ George to kiss her the way she was currently envisioning in her head. Yes. The answer was most certainly yes, though she wouldn't dream of admitting it aloud. It seemed too soon to even be thinking about that. Apparently it had been too much to hope for that the effect of hormones would recede with her teenage years. They had only gotten worse into her twenties. She scowled.

But was George being serious or was he playing with her? Neither seemed beyond him. Maybe he would simply take her for a walk, or take her inside to have a chat or play bloody _Wizard's Chess._ There was also a chance he was only teasing her, because he knew what her reaction would be. He and Fred veritably _fed_ off of reactions. There was no guarantee that if she gave him a signal, he wouldn't laugh in her face and share it with the whole group. And what would a signal even be? A tug on her ear seemed a tad cruel at this point.

"Do you play chess?" Harry's voice asked, interrupting her reverie.

"A bit." she replied, thankful he was giving her a distraction. "I used to play with my father when I was little. He had a wicked old set of Gobstones too."

Harry made a face. "Urgh. Never liked that game."

Ayla smiled. "It's definitely got its niche. Isn't there a club at Hogwarts? Dad was in it years ago, but he quit because apparently the captain was just the most dreadful witch. Took it way too seriously, and expected them to practice strategies for hours."

A shadow of something like recognition flashed across the boy's tired face.

"I can't imagine playing Gobstones for five minutes, let alone over an hour. The club's still around, I think." He said. "A lot of the younger students play it. After second year it seems to lose its appeal, and everyone just switches to Exploding Snap. It's a bit more challenging and fast-paced."

It was Ayla's turn to grimace. "I've got scars from that game."

"No you haven't." Harry said in disbelief, sitting up a bit. He pushed his round glasses up with his finger.

"See for yourself." Ayla held out her hands. He leaned forward interestedly, and she pointed out the tiny white marks on her fingers.

"Unbelievable." He said, smiling. "They're definitely there."

"You are looking at what might possibly be the worst Exploding Snap player in the world. No hand-eye-coordination whatsoever."

"It's an honor." He replied. Ayla chuckled, and decided definitively that there was no way this kid was capable of mass murder. Or whatever it was he was wanted for.

"No, Hermione." Ron's voice cut in. It sounded like he was struggling to maintain an understanding tone. "The Bishop is always going to be in that position when you're using this strategy."

"Well, perhaps I'm not going for that strategy, Ronald." Came the quiet but curt reply.

"But that's the one I was _showing_ you, Hermione."

All of a sudden, a banging sound and loud voices from the kitchen signaled the return of the twins. The raucous commotion suggested there were many people crammed into the small space now. A grinning Fred rounded the corner and bounded over to the couch, his twin close behind.

"Oi!" He said, "Get off your lazy bum and help us decorate for this party. No- not you, Potter. You're the birthday boy! Sit down! Aye, come on."

"Alright, alright." She ceded, allowing him to pull her up, and out the back door into the garden.

"You too, Ron and Granger!" George shouted as he followed with the box of purple lanterns.

"Piss off, George."

"_Ron! _Yes, George, we'll be out in a moment._"_

"Why do we have such a ponce of a brother?" George posed to his twin with an arched brow as the door slammed shut behind him.

"Which one are you talking about?" Fred said. "I can think of a couple that fit that description."

'Urgh, he's just angry his girlfriend's beating him at chess." George replied, making a face.

The twins paced around the yard, Fred kicking at gnomes and George tossing the lanterns into the air, where they settled and floated by magic.

"Want to try?" George asked Ayla, grinning at her and holding out the box. The way his eye glinted, she imagined he was still teasing her about earlier. She smiled shyly in return.

"Dying to."

Ron and Charlie eventually joined, and together the brothers set up four long tables end-to-end. George conjured a long purple table-cloth with ease, and Fred the chairs. When Hermione adeptly transformed the leaves of the apple tree to gold, Ayla felt the faintest echo of sadness for not having the ability to perform magic herself. Once the lanterns were illuminated and the food had been brought out, the end product was magical in the darkening light.

Before dinner started, by no design of her own, Ayla was seated next to George and Mr. Lupin. The butterflies had returned full force now, and she wondered what she would end up doing. Every time he so much as glanced at her, her belly would erupt in tingles. It was like she was some silly school girl. She wished she had taken the seat by Ginny on the other side of the table. She needed a distraction.

"That is a wonderful cake, Mrs. Weasley!" She commended honestly, leaning in to get a better look at the giant Snitch, which consequently offered little reprieve given how it pressed her thigh up against George's. It was like that first dinner with the Weasley's all over again, except this time she was even more aware of his every move.

"Oh, thank you, dear." Molly gushed. "It means a lot coming from you. You're too kind."

"Is Harry a… what is it they call the ones that catch the snitches?" she asked George.

"Seeker. And the best in decades." He replied, taking a sip of his mulled wine. "Plays for the Gryffindor team. Same one Fred and I used to be Beaters for. Mm, those were good times."

"Ah. And to think I was telling Harry about my poor hand-eye coordination..." At his questioning look, she rolled her eyes and showed him her Exploding Snap scars, explaining to his great amusement.

"Bloody hell, Sower," he said, holding her hand up closer to his squinting eyes. "You've really got a talent there. When are we going to play?"

"Oh, laugh it up, _Weasley_." She yanked her hand from him. "You athlete types never do understand."

"Hm, _athlete_ type, you say?" George straightened, looking very pleased with himself.

"I completely empathize, Ayla." Hermione assured from across the table. "You should have seen me on a broom in first year. That's one episode that will never be repeated."

Ron snorted into his sleeve, apparently remembering the incident. Hermione elbowed him rather roughly, and glared at him.

"It's not funny, Ron."

"S-sorry, Mione. You…ha, you were _fine_." He and Harry were both sniggering now. Hermione and Ayla exchanged understanding glances.

"Exploding Snap's hardly athletic. I'm not sure it counts." George said. "We ought to get _you_ on a broom, Aye."

"I'll pass on that one for now, thanks. Would a broom even work for me?"

"We're going to find out."

Ayla laughed humorlessly, "Ha, _no_ we're not. Unless you have some other Squib friend I don't know about that's willing to help."

"One of those old Cleansweeps is bound to…" Fred mused pensively, ignoring her.

"Those are ridiculously unsafe, but, you know it, I bet they'd work. They already fly on their own without a rider if you let them." George said.

"I like how you both are so convinced this is going to happen. You're just going to have to learn how to cope with disappointment, I'm afraid." she said, sipping her drink.

"Bah, that's enough talk about wonky brooms. We'll get around to it next week, Aye." Fred exclaimed waving his hand, "Right now we need to focus on why we're all here, gathered around this lovely table. How about the _Wizard of the Hour_, sitting right before us? Mr. Harry Potter! The best flyer the Gryffindor Quidditch team has seen in over 100 years!"

George and Fred soon launched into a story about how Harry had caught his first Snitch, dramatic reenacting gestures and all, but all Ayla could focus on was the pleasant way George's mouth and eyes looked when he spoke, and the way his body bumped into hers in his animation. There was something seriously the matter with her. Fred was just as attractive, damn it, so why was she so fixated?

She reached for her drink again.

"I think we'd better start without Arthur," Mrs. Weasley called out after the twins had finished their regaling account. "He must have been held up at –oh!"

Ayla gasped and pulled her arms back from the table at the sudden appearance of a strange silvery mist. It bounded swiftly from the gate to the middle of the table, and it took Ayla a split second to comprehend that she was seeing magic. Everyone around her became deathly quiet. Even Fred's face became impassive. The mist materialized into some sort of weasel, and stood on its hind legs.

"Minister of Magic coming with me." it said in a slightly rushed version of what sounded like Mr. Weasley's voice.

The creature vanished, and Mr. Lupin quickly stood, knocking over his glass of wine. There was a hurried commotion. Hermione quickly aimed her wand, and stopped the spill from going over the edge of the table and into Ayla's lap.

"We shouldn't be here." Lupin said, then quickly offering a hurried apology to Harry. He grabbed Tonks' hand, and the two leapt over the fence and disappeared.

"What on Earth…" Ayla murmured as everyone fidgeted around her, her eyes still wide.

"I'll explain later." George whispered to her quickly. His face looked somewhat nervous, and, glancing down, she could see that his hand hovered over his wand.

She suddenly felt a bit too exposed on her right side. Before she could think to do anything more than scoot imperceptibly closer to George, Mr. Weasley appeared at the gate, marching across the yard with whom Ayla recognized from the papers as the Minister of Magic. He looked very old and ragged, and walked with a limp.

"Sorry to intrude," the pale man said in a raspy voice. "Especially as I can see that I am gate-crashing a party." He glanced from the Snitch cake to Harry. "Many happy returns."

"Thanks." Harry replied, barely masking worried confusion.

"I require a private word with you," the Minister said, "Also, with Mr. Ronald Weasley, and Miss Hermione Granger."

"Us?" Ron asked from the other end of the table. "Why us?"

"I shall tell you when we are somewhere more private," he answered. "Is there such a place?"

The man looked impatiently at Mr. Weasley, who seemed to be bouncing nervously on the balls of his feet.

"Yes, of course, the, er, sitting room. Why don't you use that?"

With that, Ron unsurely led the way inside the house, followed by the Minister, Harry, and then Hermione, leaving everyone else sitting in a stunned quiet at the table.

"What d'you think that's about?" Molly demanded in a slicing whisper. "Arthur, what did he want?"

Mr. Weasley just gaped and shook his head. "I don't know, dear. He caught up with me just as I was about to leave. Didn't have much time to speak. We'll just have to wait and see."

Fred and George were exchanging glances. They ducked their heads together and started talking in hurried whispers. They kept looking over their shoulders at the house.

"I'm sure it's fine, right?" Ayla heard George ask quietly. "Mum and dad wouldn't have let them be alone with him if it wasn't."

"Old Scrim doesn't seem to be Imperiused. He's still on the good side, for however long that's going to last." Fred responded bleakly. "Wonder if word's gotten out the golden trio isn't going back to Hogwarts."

"It can't've. What are they going to do about it, anyway? Once they're of age, you can't force it."

"Maybe it's something that's got to do with Dumbledore's thing."

"How would the Minister know about that?"

Fred shrugged.

George raised his glass to his mouth again, finally moving his hand away from his wand. He and his brother seemed to relax a little bit. There were no loud voices coming from the house or signs of spells being cast.

The awkward tension of the rest of the table was so palpable, that Ayla decided if ever there was a time for her to escape, now would be it. She wanted to ask George about the silvery creature anyway. Maybe they could go for a short walk. Would there be any harm in that? No, she decided. It was all innocent, right? Innocent.

Before she had time to think of the proper signal to give, her mind registering only the fact that nobody else should see, she naively placed a hand on George's leg underneath the table, where she realized too late was a little bit too close to… _well_. He started, and made a strange, shrill hiccoughing sound. _Oh, damn._ Ayla wanted to crawl into a hole, taking George with her, and never emerge again. Her hand seemed fused to his upper thigh, as she was too terrified to move it. Now half of the Weasleys were looking at them. Ginny raised an eyebrow.

Fred turned to his twin with an oddly concerned expression. "Alright there, George? Too much wine?"

George coughed, and his brother gave him a few slaps on the back.

"Yeah, fine," he assured. "Just… went down the wrong way."

Underneath the table, she felt his fingers touch hers, almost uncertainly, before wrapping around them and gently pushing them a few inches farther down his leg. She blushed, embarrassed at herself. After everyone had looked away and resumed their hushed conversation about what could possibly be going on in the sitting room, he squeezed her hand, not looking at her or giving any visible sign above the table that he was doing so.

She could feel her heart beating in her throat, and tried to control the redness of her face.

"Come on," he said a bit loudly. "I'll show you the orchard, Ayla. This looks like it might take a while, and I'm not keen on waiting for cake with it hovering right in front of me."

"S-sure." Ayla said nonchalantly. "I would like to see the orchard."

The two stood, after he had released her hand beneath the table.

"We'll be back. Shoot some sparks if something happens?" George whispered to Fred, who gave a nod along with a quizzical, almost knowing look.

Everyone else seemed so preoccupied that they scarcely paid them any heed as the two started down the familiar path into the woods. Ayla wrung her hands in front of her, noticing that the area that George had touched seemed somehow enflamed.

"What was that thing?" she whispered once they were concealed by the trees, deciding not to comment on the awkwardness of their departure. "That… slivery ferret? "

"Well, firstly, that was a weasel, not a ferret. The Malfoy's are the only ferrets I know of in the magical world. Slimy gits." George shook his head. "That was my father's Patronus. It's a spell that's primary use is to ward off Dementors, which are horrible creatures that suck the happiness out of their victims, but it can also be used to send communication ahead. Patronuses can travel a lot faster than owls or even Apparition."

"I see. Why did your dad send one? What was the point of the warning?"

George's brows furrowed.

"Eh, you saw how Lupin and a few others hurried out of there. For some members of the Order, it would be pretty bad to be spotted by the Minister."

"Why was it a weasel?" She asked as her feet treaded the spongy ground, before adding softly, "Sorry for all of the questions, I'm just new to this, as you know well."

"It's no problem at all. This way…"

George turned down a smaller path that they had never taken together before. She followed behind him as there wasn't room for them to walk side-by-side. It was quite dark, and she couldn't help but wish that he would hold her hand.

"A Patronus takes the form of an animal that holds some relevance or similarity to the conjurer." he continued.

"Hm. That's quite interesting. I guess it makes sense that your dad is a weasel."

"Fred and I always thought it was a bit predictable."

"Do you have one? A Patronus?"

He glanced back at her and smirked.

"Yes."

"What is it?"

"Hmm… You're right. Too many questions. I don't think I'll tell you," he teased, turning around and walking backwards. He grinned mischievously at her, the delicate skin around his eyes wrinkling up ever-so-slightly.

She pouted.

"You don't seem too worried about the Minister being here anymore."

"My family has it under control. I don't sense much of a threat."

"Well, why won't you tell me about your Patronus then? I want to know. I'm curious now."

"I rather like that about you."

"What?"

He laughed before turning back around and jogging down the path.

"Urgh!" Ayla, hurrying to catch up with him, leaves and branches hitting her in the face. "You're infuriating sometimes!"

"But, you know, I think you rather like that about me."

"Stop going so fast! I can't see you, it's getting really dark. You know, I'm going to fall, and then it's going to be all your fault. You are going to feel _so_ horrible."

A testament to either poor lighting or her bad eyesight, Ayla didn't notice when he finally stopped in front of her. "Oof!" Air escaped from her lungs as she ran clear into his back.

"Are we here?" She asked, breathing heavily and looking up over his shoulder. She could vaguely make out a small shed to their left, and they seemed to be at the edge of some kind of clearing. Beneath her feet, she felt a few small, round lumps, which may have been rotten apples. George didn't respond, and she saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. His expression had lost its playful air.

"George…? R'you alright?" She felt the tiniest twinge of fear.

After a long pause, he turned his head and glanced down at her. Then, he abruptly turned. Before she knew it, his large hands were gripping her shoulders tightly, and he had spun her so that her back was pressed up firmly against the splintery wood of the shed. Oxygen left her lungs for the second time in a day, and she could barely comprehend what was happening. He placed his hands on either side of her body, trapping her. For the second time, his mouth hovered over her ear.

"What do you want, Ayla?" he whispered, his warm breath making her shudder from spine to toes.

She opened her mouth to speak, but could find no words.

"We haven't got all night."

"G-George…" she choked, wanting to know what the hell he was doing.

"Seriously, I told Fred we'd be right back." He said, a bit of his normal, joking voice leaking through. It was sufficient to calm her enough to respond. He was playing with her. And she could play right back.

"I-I…" she murmured to the side of his face, stuttering. "I want to know what your Patronus is."

He pulled his head back to look at her quizzically. With ginger eyebrow raised, he considered it.

"Alright. I'll tell you. But I think you should have to earn the information."

"Earn it?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"Tell me why you took me up on my offer, Miss Sower."

"You know, I almost thought you were just toying with me. You're not, are you?" She peered at him questioningly, knowing it was a loaded question.

"Ah-ah. You're not allowed to answer my question with another question. That's not how this works." His mouth had returned to her ear, closer this time. She was overwhelmed by the scent of musk and gunpowder. His chest was practically flush with hers now, and her fists were firmly at her sides.

"You're being ridiculous, George. You didn't even phrase it like a question the second time."

"Insults and grammatical technicalities aren't going to cut it either, I'm afraid. Now… what did you intend? Clearly you thought I was being serious enough. So, what shall I do with you, hm?"

Ayla looked up and saw the stars glinting behind him, trying not to meet his piercing gaze.

"I…" she started, feeling her legs trembling beneath her. She didn't want to playfully berate him anymore, or stall with banter what seemed inevitable. Her eyes fell to the skin on his neck, covered in freckles. She eventually added, almost inaudibly, with a small thrill coursing through her, "I want you to kiss me."

He didn't say anything for several agonizing seconds. Only stared at her. One of his hands eventually left the wall behind her, and settled slowly in her hair and on her neck. The warmth from his skin was overwhelming, and her heart thudded in her chest so hard she was certain he could feel it. His roughened thumb rested at her throat like some fiery piece of metal.

"If that's what you want," he said throatily, eyes half-closed, "then I'll have to oblige."

With that, George's mouth was on hers. Her eyes closed as her body swelled with paralyzing shock. Being so close to his handsome face, having the lips she had admired for months kissing her own so soundly, it was enough to send her nerves over the edge. It was unlike any first kiss she had ever experienced. If she went by her previous standards, in fact, they had skipped quite a few steps. The other lads had been shy and hesitating. These two things George Weasley was not. There was no hesitation. No inexperience. No need for dating first. From the start, he seemed almost to kiss her with his entire body, holding her head and neck in his large hands, and leaning into her.

Despite his ardor, he was not overly forceful. His surprisingly smooth lips meshed perfectly with her own, and moved with them. It was a good strategy, she thought, as her lower lip slid between his: making the girl feel like she was in capable hands, and just pushing the boundary of appropriateness ever so slightly. It made it quite exciting. This wizard had obviously done quite a bit of kissing in his day. Probably had whiled away many hours in the broom cupboards of Hogwarts. He sucked on her lip gently, before pulling away and returning immediately, opening her mouth with his own.

A small, contented, "Mm," escaped her when his warm tongue touched hers, and she raised her arms up to wrap around his neck and pull him closer. She allowed his tongue into her mouth, where it seemed content to explore. The sweetness of the mulled wine heated the back of her throat perceptibly. Oh yes, they had certainly skipped a few steps. And she was quite pleased with that.

His hands and arms descended from her face, fumbling past her chest and to her waist, where they wrapped around her firmly. She squeaked again, eyes fluttering open before closing again. She felt him start to smile against her mouth, and got the impression from his shortened breathing that he was trying not to laugh. They had come away from the wall, and George stepped her backwards as he kissed her, nearly lifting her off of her feet. She was trapped again between his body and the shed. It was thrilling. She felt so… _dominated_. The word sounded naughty in her mind, and maybe it wasn't the right one, but she also felt so abjectly safe in his arms that she couldn't bring herself to care.

After a length of time, the kiss slowed, and eventually George retracted his tongue and began to pull away. Ayla whimpered quietly, pulling him back for a slow, chaste kiss, making him smile again. She was breathing heavily when she finally opened her eyes. George was looking very content, albeit still impish, grinning crookedly at her with reddened lips. Her hands were still entwined in the silky hair at the nape of his neck. She twirled it around her fingers, enjoying the feel of it. Smiling up at him bashfully, her gaze fell to his chest as he watched her. It was one thing to be brave with eyes closed, another to be so when being stared at.

"Coyote," he said quietly, running a hand up her back beneath her cardigan.

"W-what?" She breathed in response, shifting her weight to the front of her feet at the pleasant sensation.

"My Patronus," he clarified, "is a coyote."

Ayla cocked her head, considering it through the cloudy haze that had become her mind in the past five minutes.

"Hm. Very interesting."

"If you can figure out the underlying significance, let me know."

She gave a breathless chuckle, moving her forehead to his cheek and hugging him close. He tightened his grip around her, stroking her back with his hands. The warmth was incredibly satisfying in the rapidly cooling air of the night.

"You… you wanted to know why I took you up on your offer." She reminded him.

"Ha, don't worry about it. I think I figured out the answer."

"So, we don't… have to talk about it?"

"Not unless you want to. I realize the effect I have on females, I can't imagine you'd be immune. It was only a matter of time."

Ayla fingered the soft fabric on the back of his shirt, snuggling her face into his shoulder.

"So modest." She teased, knowing he was half-joking.

"It's the modest man that sits in the corner and consequently never gets ahead."

"I think you're mistaking humility for shyness."

"Nah, I'm talking about confidence."

"It is possible to be both confident _and_ modest, you know."

"Perhaps so." He conceded. She felt him smile and turn his face into her neck, which he kissed lightly.

"Ai!" She exclaimed, jerking and pulling back a bit. "Ticklish there."

"Oh, that's fantastic!" He exclaimed. He kissed her neck again and again, making her shriek. "Best discovery all day!"

"Okay, okay, that's enough!" She said, trying to pull away from him to no avail, regretting saying anything.

"Alright." He laughed, stopping.

"Well, this was lovely, Ayla. I hope we can do it again soon. The kissing- not necessarily the tickling. Although I did enjoy it." He said in his professional tone again, after a moment, as though arranging a business meeting.

"I'll check my calendar." She replied, unable to keep the giddy grin from spreading across her face.

He pulled away from her slowly, and she immediately felt the heat begin to dissipate, but was pleased to see him looking so cheerful.

"Remember, the offer still stands for the wedding as well if you start feeling besieged by the drunken revelry. Although, we don't _have _to snog in the woods."

She looked at him skeptically as he put his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth on his feet. She hugged her arms around herself.

"Are we going to play Wizard's Chess then?"

"Well, I mean," he started, pulling out a hand and counting on his fingers, "there's _my _room we could snog in, the attic, the broom cupboard, Dad's workshop, behind the hedge, all sorts of places besides the woods."

Ayla shook her head at his joke, though she secretly would be happy with any of those options. Even the Wizard's Chess.

"You're silly."

He smiled dashingly at her.

"One of my better qualities. Right behind being devilishly good-looking."

"Of course."

He cleared his throat and started straightening his slightly rumpled shirt, "Better fix this. Might want to run a hand through your hair, there, love. Sorry 'bout that."

"Yours too."

Ayla quickly brushed her fingers through her hair, doing her best to arrange it as it had been before. She tugged at her sweater and dress as well, hoping she didn't appear too out of place.

"How do I look?" She asked.

"Bloody gorgeous."

"Close enough."

He beamed again, before adding sincerely, "No one will suspect. It's dark."

Ayla smiled, and raised a hand to smooth his hair out some more, taking care to avoid the dark hole on the left side.

"Well," George gestured into the dark clearing behind them, "this is the orchard. Hope you enjoyed it. I'll bring you back in the daytime some other day. It's time to be getting back, though. We've pushed our luck a bit, I'm afraid."

With that, he took her hand, and they headed silently back down the path back towards the party. There was something undeniably pleasant about walking quietly with George in the dark, with the sound of frogs and crickets all around. Just before they passed beneath the canopy of the treeline at the edge of the yard, he stopped her. He raised their entwined hands and brought her fingers up to his lips.

"Remember, offer still stands for tomorrow," he whispered. He squeezed her hand and let go, leading her back to the crowded table.

Once Harry, Ron, and Hermione had returned to dinner, and the Minister had left, everything seemed back to normal, with the added entertainment of passing around the trio's inheritance from Dumbledore. Apparently the Minister had been there to deliver some items from the late Headmaster's collection. Ayla had particular fun with the Golden Snitch, which was the one Harry had caught by accidentally swallowing. There was something delightful about the little fluttering wings and how they ticked at her fingers. She giggled, liking how the Snitch almost seemed to be excited itself as it whirred. Though, there was a pretty good chance that the elation she felt was more a result of the handsome red-headed wizard beside her, and the feeling that they now shared an exciting secret. Even with the absence of a body on the other side of her, she still sat so that they were touching from shoulder to knee.

He was smiling knowingly as he drank from his glass, watching her play with the tiny golden ball.

"I want one of these." She said, holding it up so the wings could tickle her cheek. "Are they terribly expensive?"

"Unfortunately," Fred said as he shoveled cake into his mouth.

Ayla sighed sadly.

"I've got a couple of old Bludgers you could have…" he continued, chuckling.

"Somehow I just don't think it would be the same, but thanks." She reached across the table to hand Harry the Snitch. He muttered a quick thanks. The bespectacled young man stared at it pensively, chewing on his lower lip and looking mildly distressed, before pocketing it.

* * *

><p>That night, Ayla had a hard time sleeping again. But this time it was the smile she was hiding in her pillow that kept her awake. She eventually fell into a doze, dreams of George and the promise of the following evening filling her head.<p> 


End file.
